Tales of Truth
by Ms.MaraJade
Summary: While on an errand for the king, Aramis and Porthos come across a child unknowingly in harm's way. Aramis' fatherly instincts begin to emerge, and he finds it harder to keep secret his longing for what he doesn't have. Aramis and Anne implied, with the other Musketeers included. "Fairy tale-esque" in nature.
1. Chapter 1-Helene and Marie

_Author's Notes_ : It took a few weeks, but I managed to put together a story in The Musketeers universe that is of my own design. I hope I have stayed true to the spirit of the show and have not strayed too far from the characters' established personalities. Any mistakes in timeline or in character are my own, despite the research I had done to, hopefully, remedy such errors. I had even gone as far as researching some nuances of 17th century France, and I have done what I could to bring it to life. The timeline for this story is any time after "Through a Glass Darkly" in Season 2, but before Rochefort puts his efforts into investigating Aramis.

 _Disclaimer_ : I do not own "The Musketeers" in any capacity with the exception of the books written by Alexandre Dumas from where these characters were inspired. I do, however, lay claim on Helene, Jacqueline, and the Clamort residents as well as their kin. There is no money made from this hobby, but that does not stop my imagination from conjuring up new stories.

 _Summary_ : While on an errand for the king, Aramis and Porthos come across a child unknowingly in harm's way. Aramis' fatherly instincts begin to emerge, and he finds it harder to keep secret his longing for what he doesn't have. Aramis and Anne implied, with the other Musketeers included. "Fairy tale-esque" in nature.

 **Tales of Truth**

 **Chapter 1 – Helene and Marie**

The horses' hooves thundered across the open landscape, bordering around the outskirts of the nearby town. The early evening sun was already hanging low on the horizon, and darkness would be upon the land within the hour. The green of the grasses and meadows was currently cast with a warm, orange glow, and the sight of Paris in the distance had a golden haze shining across it. The town to the east was at least another half-hour journey away, and if not for the wisp of smoke from a fireplace and the turning windmill, it would have been missed entirely in the trees.

Two musketeers under the command of King Louis of France rode side-by-side on those thundering horses. They each were as different as they could be, both in looks and clothing, and if not for the leather pauldron on each of their right shoulders, they would have been as anonymous as any other men riding through France's countryside.

Seeming wistful, the musketeer riding on the right had been roaming his eyes over the landscape, using the moments in silence to enjoy the soft glow of this coppery prelude to evening. Shifting his gaze from the distant line of trees marking the border of a forest, Aramis' deep, mahogany eyes – kind-hearted orbs that hinted at more of an onyx shade – intensified under the glow of sunlight. His tan-tinted skin took on a warmer hue in these early stages of sunset, and the golden glow set highlights into his dark, wavy hair. Extending to just above his shoulders, those dark locks gave the impression of being wild and unruly as the thick waves bounced freely beneath his gray cavalier. He sported a goatee cropped close to his face, with the scruff of a beard bordering his jawline. The long, brown coat that was his personalization to the musketeer uniform flapped along the back of his horse's saddle as he rode.

His companion, Porthos, was a larger man with dark skin and eyes not quite as dark as those of Aramis. Where they were similar was in their facial hair, with Porthos' beard and goatee nearly identically trimmed to the style that Aramis wore. His clothing, however, was his own unique wardrobe, as he was donned in dark brown leather more suited for battle as opposed to a casual ride, with the length of his doublet short for maneuverability. He kept his thick, but short hair hidden beneath a scarf that was tied tightly around the top of his head. With a scar marking his left eye and that unmistakable wrap on his head, Porthos offered the illusion of living the life of a marauder, seeking his next plunder, rather than being a man of honor under the king's command.

Aramis found himself appreciating the beauty in the land around him, as he always noticed something different in the countryside when they rode through it. Turning slightly, and taking a glance to his left, Aramis caught Porthos concentrating on the ride before them. He briefly wondered for a moment if Porthos ever mentally paused to absorb the beauty around the land that they often were too busy riding through to stop and enjoy.

Unlike Aramis who had grown sentimental, Porthos, however, was tired and hungry and just wanted to rest for the night. He was busy working through his frustrations over how their simple errand of bringing correspondence and a package from the king to the Baron of Clamort had been turned entirely upside down. After they had provided the king's deliveries to him, the baron had delayed their departure by insisting on writing his reply to the king. He took his time with his response, asking for their patience, and that he would gladly reward them for their time as soon as he was done. After an expected wait of twenty minutes or so for the baron to write his reply, their delay was furthered even longer, as Baron Clamort insisted that he entertain them with the stories of his life and then begged for them in return to tell him stories of their adventures.

Aramis and Porthos had played along at first, understanding that the baron was a lonely, older man who had lost his second wife this past winter and had craved the company of visitors. His children, with the exception of his youngest daughter, had married and scattered themselves around the influential members of France's upper echelon, obligating themselves in affairs that often kept them busy and distant from their father. The baron's youngest daughter stayed with him in order to handle the errands that he no longer could, and she had left earlier in the day for one of those chores, but the baron did not go into detail about her journey.

If not for his daughter and the servants who were loyal to their baron's kindness, Clamort would have had no one. The arrival of two musketeers on the baron's doorstep, however, had brought new life into the old man, and he kept finding numerous excuses to delay Aramis and Porthos' departure.

They, in turn, had offered their gratitude, as the baron had fed them with a lavish meal and had his grooms provide adequate care for their horses. He poured the wine freely, begging for story after story of their adventures, not entirely aware that he was growing more inebriated while the musketeers in his company had carefully portioned their drink, knowing they still had the long ride back to Paris and the journey to the garrison that was nestled within its walls.

At the end of the mid-day meal, the baron had dozed off, as many elderly persons were known to do, and his overabundance of wine only added to that need. Baron Clamort's most trusted servant, Mary, had explained that the baron had a package for the king in return, and that she hoped they would not mind the task of doing the errand for the elderly man. Aramis and Porthos had allayed Mary's concerns, gladly accepting the package that Mary had told them contained a gift for the dauphin. The correspondence between the two nobles was private, and while no one asked about the letter's contents, even Mary had not been privileged to know what it contained. She had, however, asked them to stay just long enough for the baron to awaken before they departed, citing that it would not be honorable for them to sneak off like thieves in the night.

Having played on their sense of honor, Aramis and Porthos found themselves stuck at the baron's estate well into the late afternoon hours while the man slept off his excitement and wine. By the time he was awake again, he was offering them a dinner, but for as much as the two musketeers would have liked to have enjoyed the meal before embarking on their return journey, they were left with no choice but to decline the offer.

The baron understood their plight, regretting that he had fallen asleep on them, complaining of his age and his inability to do the things he once took for granted in his youth. To show his gratitude for their continued patience with him, he had provided each of them with a small pouch of coins and wished them well on their journey back to Paris, asking only in return that they spend some time in his company if they were ever in the area again and not hurrying on an errand for the king. Aramis and Porthos had agreed that they would make every effort to return one day when their duties allowed them the time.

Thinking of Baron Clamort and his confined existence, Aramis slowed his horse down slightly, and decided to take in more of the sights around him. For as many times as he had seen a sunset or the warm glow that it cast on the land before nightfall crept in, something about the Baron of Clamort's slowly deteriorating life had struck his emotions.

"I can't do it, Porthos," he said adamantly as he now brought his horse to a stop and breathed in the glory of the sunset.

Bringing his horse to a sudden halt, Porthos spun around to meet his friend eye-to-eye. "You had better be very specific right now because I'm hungry and tired, and for as much as I liked the old man, I like the idea of sleeping in my bed more."

"I mean growing old like that with so few opportunities to enjoy life," Aramis clarified as he draped his arms over the horn of his saddle and leaned forward slightly. The hat upon his head slightly obscured his face in the shadows of the oncoming night, giving him an air of mystery. "Baron Clamort lives remotely, with so few people in his life. I pity him, and I know that's the last thing a man of the baron's caliber wants from anyone. He wants respect and to be remembered fondly, not to be the root of sympathy. I almost feel that we will never have an opportunity ourselves, and we'll all end up like him – only penniless in a slum somewhere instead of in a worthy estate with caring servants."

Taking a deep breath, Porthos glanced around the open field and the rows of trees in the distance, watching the golden sun shift on the landscape as the shadows elongated and began marching over the greenery. Feeling the frustration brewing beneath, Porthos didn't want to admit that he had felt similarly about their future, and instead of wallowing in the pity that he also felt for the baron, Porthos just wanted to get back to his normal life so that he could resume his duties and not think about it.

Keeping his voice even to hide his own sympathy, Porthos asked, "Now? You picked now to get all philosophical and worried about your future? The garrison and the palace are at least another hours' ride, and that sun is setting very quickly."

"What better time to consider my future than the present?" Aramis asked lightly, using his charm to diffuse what he sensed was his friend's frustrations.

Porthos ran his hand over his face, not sure whether to be angry or laugh. Aramis certainly knew him too well – even when he was trying to hide his true feelings. "Well, you're a musketeer right now, and we are on an errand. I don't know about you, but I see a very restful night on my bed in my future. So, I suggest we talk while we ride."

"And, miss the sights before us that one day will not be accessible because we'll be confined like the baron?" Aramis pressed with a teasing smile.

"I promise you, after a good night's sleep, you'll feel better about yourself, and we'll have a reasonable talk in the morning," Porthos offered in return with a flash of a grin, as he turned his horse around and urged it forward, towards Paris.

Taking the reins in his hands and sitting upright again in his saddle, Aramis laughed lightly as his horse followed Porthos. "You're right. We'll probably die in some battle long before either of us get to the baron's age."

"Always the optimist," Porthos chuckled with a touch of sarcasm, watching Aramis catch up to him. "Now, let's get back to Paris and give the king his..."

A high-pitched, "No!" of the variety that a child would make echoed through the field, followed by the sound of crying. Aramis and Porthos gave a quick, tired look to the other, but they both knew they could not abandon a child in need.

Tracking the sound of the child's crying, the two musketeers urged their horses to quickly maneuver through the field. As they passed through the tree line, they found themselves almost a half-acre within the forest, where they saw a small girl of no more than seven-years-old looking upwards into a bundle of the branches high above her. She was dressed in simple clothes, the likes of which had seen better days. The light tan and white of her dress and small apron were frayed with streaks of old mud caked in the threads. Her tiny shoes showed wear, as there were thin spots on them where holes were starting to form. Her long, blonde hair hung wildly down her shoulders and back, the bonnet upon her head barely holding any of it off her face. She continued on with her crying, the tears washing away the dirt on her cheeks, giving way to streaks of clean lines upon her face.

Bringing their horses to a halt, Aramis slid himself off his saddle while Porthos peered upwards into the tree to see why she was so insistent in keeping her attention there.

Lowering himself to one knee before the girl, Aramis set a hand on her shoulder, calmly getting her attention. "Hello there, little one."

Sucking in a few breaths and getting her sobbing controlled, the girl looked between Aramis and Porthos, seeming surprised that there was someone who heard her crying, and she rubbed her eyes to clear the tears away.

"Can you reach it?" she asked wearily.

Aramis looked between the girl and the tree again, clearly confused as to what she saw that he could not. "Reach what?"

She nearly burst into tears once more. "You don't see it?"

"We would if we knew what we were looking for," Porthos said, straining his neck to look upwards.

Aramis stood now, taking off his hat and brought his eyes to peer again into the branches above them. He shifted his angle a couple times, until he finally was able to catch a glimpse of the small arm that was draped over a very high branch. "Ah…I see. Angle yourself to the a little left, Porthos, and then tilt your head to the right."

Still on his horse, Porthos leaned as his friend instructed and subsequently felt his eyes widened when he caught sight of the same thing that Aramis had noticed. Porthos looked at the tiny girl, wondering how someone so small could launch something so high.

"Now, just how did that get up there?" Porthos asked, with a hint of humor in his voice.

"The Baptiste Brothers did that," she sniffed, wiping at her nose with her sleeve. "They took my doll and threw her there. I can't reach her, and I'm too little to climb."

Aramis turned to his friend, and Porthos had a snarl on his face, the kind that showed he would not tolerate such behavior any more than Aramis would. Porthos kept his voice calm for the girl's sake, but there was no mistaking that he was a hungry, tired, and frustrated musketeer. "Where are these boys now?"

"They ran away, like they always do," the girl replied with another sniff. She looked up into the tree again, and her blue eyes were ready to spill the next rim of tears that sat within them.

Aramis put his cavalier back on his head, placing his hands on his hips as he took a deep breath, his eyes taking in the small child. "I'd like to meet these 'Baptiste Brothers.' I'm sure I could give them quite a lesson in how to treat a young lady and her belongings."

The girl looked at Aramis, and he heard the desperate pleading in her small voice. "Can you get it for me?"

"What's your name?" Aramis asked instead, somehow seeing in this girl's blue eyes that she desperately needed something more than just her doll.

"Helene," she answered softly. Then she pointed a tiny finger up into the tree, "And that's Marie."

Aramis took little Helene's hand in his and bowed formally. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Helene. I am Aramis and this is my friend, Porthos. We are musketeers under the king's command and are pleased to meet your acquaintance."

Aramis released her fingers and stood upright while Porthos smiled and motioned to the limbs far above in the tree. "There's no good branches for climbing, but if I lift you, do you think you can reach your doll?"

Helene squinted into the height of the tree and then nodded. "Maybe."

Aramis set his hands upon Helene's waist and lifted her, as Porthos wrapped his arm around her, setting her feet upon his saddle. Then, with strong, steady hands, Porthos grasped her calves and gave her careful instructions. "Keep your legs locked and still and reach up as I lift you. Got it?"

Helene nodded again and brought her eyes to the branch just a few feet above her head as Porthos began raising her.

Both musketeers watched carefully as the girl reached upwards, her fingers inching closer to the doll.

Then, a crackling explosion echoed through the trees and the meadow, and a musket ball crashed into the tree trunk by Helene's shoulders. Porthos' horse reared, and he lost his grip on Helene as he worked to keep the animal under control.

Fighting against his battle training to pull his musket free and provide cover, Aramis found himself reaching forward and catching Helene as she fell. His protective instincts scrambled his body to move, and he found himself cradling her as he caught her to keep her head from hitting the hard roots of the tree on the ground. He had landed on his knees, one hand under her skull, and his other arm gently wrapped around her tiny body, reducing the impact she would have taken into the tree roots that were nestled between the grass and flowers.

When he looked up, he saw that his horse was long gone, probably due to the fact that Helene was now crying and screaming uncontrollably, and his horse was not accustomed to such high-pitched and distraught sounds. At first, Aramis thought Helene's crying was because of the scare of the musket ball, but as he looked to her, he saw that the left shoulder of her dress was torn and showing fresh blood from the abrasion that the musket ball had left upon her when it grazed her. He took the barest of moments to look at the wound and saw that even though it was a graze, it had been deep enough to puncture her skin and leave a thin, but painful laceration in its wake.

Porthos moved to get off his horse, but another shot fired from somewhere neither of them could see, and Aramis looked up, shouting so that he could be heard over the girl's sobbing. "She's no good to ride like this. She'll scare your horse, and three of us will only tire him."

"Don't be foolish," Porthos growled as another shot pierced into the oncoming dusk, scattering the dirt by his horse's hooves. The horse reared again, and Porthos had to fight harder for control of the animal.

"I am being reasonable!" Aramis argued while another musket ball landed in the tree trunk, and he ducked to cover the child. Helene's pained cries tore at him, and he knew he could not leave her or force her to ride a horse that would rear and kick at the noises she was making. "Go, Porthos! I can handle this."

Porthos hesitated again, but Aramis wrapped his arms around the hysterical child, and his words were nearly drowned out by Helene's screams and the musket ball splintering the trunk of the tree near them.

Reminding his friend of his duty, Aramis remained stubborn. "You have correspondence for the king, Porthos. Now, go, and don't make me tell you again!"

Aramis wasted no more time in arguments with his friend as he kept low to the ground and carried Helene with him to a tree a little further away with a thicker trunk. He heard the hooves on Porthos' horse finally digging into the grasses of the meadow, and he knew that his friend would eventually return. For now, though he had an injured child and an undisclosed number of muskets firing at him. He just needed enough time for night to settle in, and then he would have the concealment of dark to use for hiding. In the meantime, his plan would require him to reduce the number of threats as much as possible so that when the time came to run, he would be able to keep the child that was in his care safe while he fought to keep himself alive.


	2. Chapter 2-Witness Protection

_Author's Notes_ : Thank you for the positive reviews and the support you have all provided with Chapter 1! I hope Chapter 2 continues to live up to your expectations. The story has been written in its entirety, and with only minor polishing needed, I am confident I can post a new chapter each week.

 **Chapter 2 –Witness Protection**

Porthos had heard the musket shots behind him in the distance and for as hard as his horse ran, he had nearly turned around at least a half dozen times. He never should have left Aramis to fend for himself, especially not while ensuring the safety of a defenseless and injured child.

It was not the first time that he had left his friend in a perilous situation, and every time they were forced to separate under duress, it washed him in a fear that he could never quite forget. Despite all the good men he met in the musketeers, Aramis was the one he would always consider his closest and dearest friend. They were brothers without shared blood, but if there was anyone in the entire kingdom of France who deserved the honor of being his adopted brother, it was Aramis.

They were more than just partners in laughter and mischief. They had taken musket balls and blades for each other; they had bled together; and they fought not only a common enemy but each other as well. The regiment of musketeers at the garrison often knew that if Porthos and Aramis were not talking, then the rest of them had better stay out of their line of fire. Their arguments were heated and loud, and were never finished – each one continuing to incite the quarrel in the other – until one of them stepped in front of a weapon to defend and protect his brother. Then, it was an embrace, an apology, and brotherly laughter for weeks afterwards.

Porthos had realized at some point in their many years together that brothers who had this much passion for each other were the fiercest, even when they didn't agree. But, he would choose no other for his bloodless family. Aramis was the finesse to Porthos' strength, and Porthos was the sense of logic that kept Aramis grounded when he was being ruled by his heart.

Gripping the reins tighter in his hands, Porthos turned to look behind him, but all he could see was layers of darkness as the sun had now fallen behind the horizon.

"Stupid, stupid, Aramis," he muttered, looking forward again, feeling the wind catch his face while his horse continued in its run. "And, stupid, stupid me for leaving him."

There was no argument that Aramis' kind heart had gotten him in trouble again, and Porthos was left to do little more than run for reinforcements. Why did he even listen to his brother? What made him run instead of aiding in the fight? Porthos knew that he left Aramis to die in that forest, and if his brother was doomed, then he should have been there with him. He understood Aramis wanting to comfort that poor, little girl in what could very well be their last moments, but Porthos should have been there to face their shared end together.

He quickly calculated that there couldn't have been more than five or seven men, and Porthos had taken on more than that himself in the past. What would even have possessed him to leave Aramis behind? Growling at himself with frustration, he knew why he left his brother there in the woods with a frightened girl. It was because leaving Aramis guaranteed that the king receive his correspondence as well as the dauphin's gift, and it would ensure that the duty that had been obligated to the two of them had been completed.

 _Duty above all else_ , Porthos growled to himself at the thought. Aramis would sacrifice himself to make certain that Porthos survived to carry out their assigned duty, rather than see the two of them perish together and their task left incomplete.

And, that always was the problem with Aramis, Porthos decided. No matter how logical anyone tried to be with him, Aramis would always be ruled by his heart and his emotional need to do good for others. Aramis sacrificed himself for Porthos and the correspondence's safety and in doing so, he would allow Porthos to live another day while he protected that little girl, staying beside her so that she would not die alone. There was no logic that Porthos could possibly use in dispute because this time Aramis had all the arguments already accounted for and argued against.

Passing through the boundary walls of Paris, Porthos urged his horse to the musketeer garrison. The king's correspondence was the least of his worries. That letter, along with the gift for the dauphin, could be delivered by anyone in the garrison. Baron Clamort had made no demand that Porthos or Aramis were to personally provide King Louis with the packages.

Rumbling through the streets, Porthos saw the opening to the garrison, and while a part of him was glad to be home, every other inch of him knew that it would never be the same without Aramis' smile and wit to brighten the place.

"Athos! D'Artagnan! Captain Treville!" he bellowed as he rode into the courtyard, his eyes looking around. He practically jumped off his horse, handing the reins over to the groomer. He knew he would need a fresh horse for the ride back to find Aramis, and he did not want to run any of the animals to death by overusing them. "Athos!"

Exiting the captain's office on the second story of the garrison, came the musketeer, Athos, with neck-length, brown locks that often shrouded his light-colored eyes. He wore dark colors, with the exception of his white tunic beneath, as though always in a perpetual state of mourning. He moved down the steps gracefully but with a speed that contradicted the weight of sorrow he continually carried on his back.

The man following Athos was dressed in a bright tan outfit of strong leather, and he wore it more as an armed protection than a clothing choice. His short, graying hair belied his age, and his bright, blue eyes had so much experience in them – both good and bad. He walked with a refinement that was different from Athos, but a movement all his own. The weight he carried upon his shoulders was vastly dissimilar from that of his younger companion, as Captain Treville was far better at hiding his burdens than Athos was.

Both men were shadowed by the torchlights of the courtyard, their faces seeming older and more tired than they actually were. The orange glow of the flames flickered over them, and it only helped to seal more tightly the mysteries that both men kept guarded within themselves.

"Where is Aramis?" Athos asked in his voice that always sounded so monotone.

"Long story," Porthos hurriedly explained. He had been aware of the fear in Athos' voice, the subtle undercurrent of stress and worry that only a select few had ever been able to decode. "When I last left him he was protecting a little girl from a band of men firing muskets at them."

"Why did he make you leave him?" D'Artagnan asked. He was a young man still enjoying life in his early twenty years. His long, dark hair fell just past his shoulders, the straight strands somehow knowing to keep his eyes clear at all times. Porthos mused that he could rarely remember seeing the young man's hair needing to be brushed from his face. His dark eyes were aware of a situation happening, and he wasted no time as he quickly slid into his dark brown leather, pulling it tightly over his white tunic. His dark tan skin hid well in the shadows, and he moved quickly while gathering up his gear and settling the weapons in their appropriate holsters upon his body.

Porthos shifted his gaze to the youngest of their tight-knit group, and he pitied D'Artagnan for having not been in their company with the years required to fully understand the three of them so instinctively. He knew in time that D'Artagnan would come to appreciate Aramis and his selfless ways, even if the young man would never be as close to him as he was.

Softly, with a hint of remorse, Porthos said, "When you've know Aramis for as long as I have, you'd know that is a question that doesn't need asking."

Looking now to Treville and knowing that he didn't have time to give the details of the story to his friends at this moment, Porthos continued, "Captain, Baron Clamort asked us to deliver a package for the king. It contains a personal letter and a gift for the dauphin. They are still in my horse's bags…"

"I'll see that it gets to the king," Treville interrupted hurriedly, understanding without having it explained. The captain then waved his hands and nodded his head at the groomers, and within moments three horses were prepared and ready for the men to ride. Treville's eyes worriedly passed around the men he thought of as his adopted sons. "Go do what you can for Aramis, God willing he's still alive."

As he listened to the horses' hooves thunder out of the garrison, Treville stood in the courtyard and had too many flashbacks of their perils. He had seen each of them wounded, each of them with broken hearts, and each of them mature from youthful men seeking adventure into dutiful men of honor. While he should be proud of them and all they had accomplished, he felt an empty hole in his chest at the thought of any of them never coming through those garrison gates again. They were as close to brothers as he had ever seen any of the men under his tutelage become, and he knew that without any one of them, the others would never function the same.

Understanding that he could do nothing for his men and that worrying would only cause undue stress, Treville turned to Porthos' tired horse and began searching through the saddlebags, looking for the packages from the baron. He would personally see that the correspondence and the dauphin's gift that Baron Clamort had sent were delivered to King Louis in the morning. Treville just hoped that he could avoid Rochefort's deviousness in the process. That man had twisted the king's mind with his underhanded "advice" and sneaky tactics, and in doing so, he set off all kinds of unease in Treville. He just hoped that he could expose Rochefort's ultimate endgame before something happened that was irreparable to his musketeers, himself, the nobles they were sworn to protect, or the people of France.

##### ##### ##### ##### #####

Aramis assessed what weapons he still had upon himself, and he counted one sword, one dagger, one musket, and his stockpile of musket balls in one pouch as well as the filaments in another. There was no doubt in his mind that Porthos would return the first moment he was able, bringing the remainder of their brothers with him. Unfortunately, it was up to Aramis to stay alive on his own until then as the garrison was at least one hour away. Then, he had to calculate that it would take at least another hour for his friends to return to this place, and he wasn't certain how well he could hold off an undetermined number of assailants for a minimum of two hours. Aramis knew that he needed to quickly prepare an alternate strategy if there was going to be any hope of keeping Helene and himself safe.

Looking over to where he had set Helene down, Aramis saw that she was slumped low behind the tree trunk with him and had stopped screaming, but she continued crying. Her blue eyes were still rimmed with tears that rolled down her cheeks, and she flinched when a musket ball hit the tree trunk behind them.

Aramis portrayed calm in his words as he pulled his musket from his side, despite the storm of turmoil that churned inside him. "You need stay close to me. Do you understand?"

"I'm sorry. I just wanted Marie," Helene told him sadly, biting her tiny lip to keep from sobbing again.

"It's not your fault," he offered as he gave her a kind smile, but the moment had passed, and he kept low, peering around the trunk of the tree.

He caught movement in the underbrush, moving towards his left side. Anticipating where the movement was heading, Aramis lined up his musket on the shifting bushes and fired, listening to the thud of the body fall to the ground in the distance.

He turned back behind the tree and began packing the next musket ball into the barrel as he kept his ears open for more movement. He was aware of Helene holding her ears and leaning against his hip as he shifted to look around the trunk again.

In the brush, Aramis saw a man crouched next to the unmoving body, and he fired again, watching the second man fall next to his dead comrade. He hoped that was the last of the attackers, but he was not about to assume anything. Reloading the musket again, Aramis looked up as he heard footsteps and the click of a musket being cocked.

In front of him stood a man not much older than he was, wearing a gray outfit that had seen better days. His face spoke of one who knew hardship, as there were lines etched in what were once handsome features. A deep scar crossed his face from his right cheek to his left jaw line, and his dark blonde hair was long enough to fall into his eyes but not long enough to tie back.

Aramis had his loaded musket still in his hands, and he used the heartbeats he had been provided to decide on his next actions. He was aware of Helene curled beside him, and he watched how the man before him shifted his attention to the scared child, despite keeping the musket trained on him. A risky plan came to Aramis, and he hoped the distraction he conjured would be enough.

Keeping his eyes connected to the man before him, Aramis spoke like a parent. "You Baptiste Brothers need a good scolding about teasing those younger than you."

It was the sufficient distraction that Aramis needed, as the man before him wavered his musket in confusion, his arm shifting just a slight, visible drop, and in that fraction of time between heartbeats, Aramis took his chance at a quick-draw maneuver. He raised and fired his musket, watching the man before him fall backwards with the lead ball firmly lodged in his chest.

"I have a plan, Helene, but you must stay quiet, or else these men will find us," Aramis whispered soothingly, as he brought an arm around the girl.

Getting his feet beneath him, he carried her as he ran for better cover in the brush that was further away from the tree they had been behind, moving instead towards the thickness of the woods. Dusk was quickly giving away now to dark, and the sunlight that had left a golden tint on the trees and shrubs had now grown gray.

Aramis slid the two of them beneath a wide, thick bush, feeling his cavalier push off his head and get stuck somewhere in the limbs above him. He ignored the branches that scratched at his face and the spider web that got caught in his goatee. He was confined to lying on his stomach, and he didn't have a lot of room to maneuver, as he realized that they had been lucky enough to find an abandoned deer burrow. He allowed his body to sink into the large crevice that the previous occupant had dug into the ground, knowing it would help them to stay low and hidden while he reloaded the musket again. Unfortunately, he also knew that the moment he fired, it would give away their position, but he had to hope that whoever these raiders were would under-estimate him and not realize that they were up against an experienced musketeer.

"That girl couldn't have gone far," a man grumbled to another, as the two of them moved to investigate the dead man by the tree.

"It's more than just the girl now that we should be worried about," the other replied. "She found a musketeer, and if she talks, we're all…"

The first man spun on his partner. "We'll find them and kill them both. There's more of us than there are of him, and he's only one musketeer."

Aramis steadied his finger over the trigger of his musket in preparation of another attack, as these raiders had come to the realization that they were not fighting against a defenseless citizen. He hoped he would still prove to be cleverer than they were, and he kept his eyes on the darkened outlines of the two men as they moved about. He observed how the night sky had been slowly taking over the landscape, and there was little light left in the thick brush, with the moon in the northern half of the sky shining in only a sliver of its normal size, giving him the advantage. He was confident that they would remain concealed in the dark, but he also didn't like that he couldn't see their attackers any longer. It was a trade-off he hoped would play to his and Helene's advantage, and it was a patience game of which he had never played quite so intensely before.

Aramis had no idea now how long these two men were moving about the woods completing their search. At some point a third man had joined them, and Aramis caught himself holding his breath every time one of them moved just a little too close to his hidden position. He silently prayed that Helene would not move or make any noises that would accidentally reveal their location. He felt her clutching to his back, her small fingers grasping onto his coat, and her face pressed against his shoulder.

"They must be long gone by now," the first man grumbled in aggravation, "And, it's too dark to really see if they are hiding anywhere."

"They have to be here somewhere," the second man argued. "They couldn't have gotten too far."

"Head back to the carriage," the third man ordered. "They'll resurface again in the daylight. For now, I got what I wanted, and I'll make sure you're paid for your efforts."

Aramis waited until the sound of the men disappeared in the distance, and then he waited for even longer afterwards. He wanted to be absolutely certain that they would not double-back this way, and after a small eternity, he rolled onto his side to look at Helene, feeling the girl release her hold on his coat.

His voice was stern yet kind, slipping a little light sarcasm into his words. "I really doubt those men were the Baptiste Brothers."

Helene shook her head, as she and Aramis remained lying in the burrow. In the bare reflection of the moon, he could see that her wide eyes were full of a different kind of fear.

Without warning, she suddenly started babbling in a whisper about everything that had happened. "I was hiding in the wagon, like I always do when Papa tells me to go away. Then, I heard the carriage. I came out to see the pretty carriage on the path in the woods. I stopped to watch it go by and that's when I saw the men with the muskets. The noise was so loud I covered my ears and closed my eyes. Then, when it was quiet, I opened my eyes to see the fancy-dressed people on the ground not moving. The men with the muskets took a pretty lady that was crying, and they rummaged through a small chest from the carriage. I thought I was being quiet, but one of them saw me. I ran and disappeared and thought they didn't follow. Then, the Baptiste Brothers took Marie from me. I chased them in the woods. They threw her into the tree and ran away and then you and Porthos arrived. And, then it was the noisy muskets again."

Aramis took a tired breath, as he realized that amidst the jumble of Helene's day she had inadvertently witnessed a series of murders, a robbery, and a kidnapping all in the same moment. He knew that Porthos would arrive sometime within the next couple hours and have his brothers with him. In the meantime, he had to protect the one witness who probably could describe the woman that had been abducted along with the men who took her.

"It keeps hurting," Helene whimpered. "Can you make it stop?"

"I need to get you somewhere safe first," Aramis said with sympathy lacing his words.

As the two of them slipped out of the thick brush, he helped Helene to her feet. He then reached within the branches and pulled out his cavalier, setting it back on his head. Brushing aside the spider web that had been entangled in his goatee, he tried not to think about the possibility of an arachnid crawling somewhere within his clothes.

Taking his own advice to not think about that spider, he told Helene, "You'll need to be brave and hold on just a little longer."

He studied the night around them, listening carefully once again to make sure the men who had attacked them earlier were gone. Hearing only the insects and mammals of night going about their nocturnal lives, he decided not to take any unnecessary chances. Looking about the darkness, he picked Helene up and held her in one arm while holding the musket in a ready position in the other.

"Why does it hurt so much?" she whined softly.

Aramis came to the conclusion that without the distraction of the men attacking them, Helene was starting to concentrate only on her injury, and he needed her thoughts on anything but that until he could get to a safe place with enough light to assess the damage.

"Do you have any family?" he asked Helene, diverting her thoughts from the pain in her shoulder.

"Just my mama's husband and his daughter, Madeleine," the girl replied, her voice rough. "Mama died last winter. Papa Gerard is mean a lot, and Madeleine doesn't like me very much."

"Perhaps your papa just has his mind on other things and only appears mean?" Aramis asked.

"No, he yells at me all the time," Helene said quietly.

"Well then what makes you think Madeleine doesn't like you?" Aramis asked.

Helene's eyes grew sad again, and even in the dark Aramis could see the shine of emotional hurt in them. "She doesn't want me near her, and she tells me to always go away."

Aramis realized that he didn't know Helene for very long, but even he could see that this child was not bad or malicious. If anything, she was lonely and deprived and lived a sad existence because of it. While he knew that he should stay here and await Porthos' return, the father in him wanted to meet her family, to see for himself just what this child endured and see if maybe he could offer some influence into having her treated appropriately.

Putting on his most endearing smile, Aramis caught Helene's eyes and worded his intentions carefully so that he would not scare her with the knowledge she carried about the abduction she witnessed or of making her step-father angry. "It would not be against my duty to ensure you are safely escorted home. Do you live far from here?"

Helene shook her head, her pained smile shining in the night. "I live just over the hill by the dead oak tree."

Aramis looked around them, assessing the landscape as he quietly said to Helene, "You'll have to tell me which way to go. And, I know this will be hard for you, but we will need to stay quiet for a little while in case the men come back. So I want you to think about something very special or happy and think only of that."

Helene looked at the trees in the distance behind them where her doll was still stranded. "What about Marie?"

"She is safest where she can't be seen," Aramis smiled. "I promise that we will come back for her in the light after my friends arrive. Now, start thinking of something that makes you happy."

Helene looked to the musketeer, seeming to absorb his logic and then she pointed forward. "That way."


	3. Chapter 3–A Tale of Sir Porthos

_Author's Notes_ : Thank you for the reviews and for the follows! I'm very appreciative of the interest in this little story of mine.

 **Chapter 3 – A Tale of Sir Porthos**

Finally escaping the barriers of Paris, the musketeers rode into the open air of night. Darkness was abundant over the meadow and fields, and the sliver of the moon rising above only provided the barest shards of light. Porthos had to navigate entirely on reversing his memories of the ride he took to get to the garrison, and he strained his eyes in the darkness for the landmarks he memorized on his way from the woods. The ride back to the area where he left Aramis seemed so much longer than the ride to the garrison, and his worry only increased with every moment that passed.

"Explain what you know, Porthos," Athos instructed as he rode next to his friend. While it was not obvious, Athos' subtle worry had grown stronger in his voice.

Porthos nodded, hearing the unspoken request that Athos had wanted him to stop brooding and to tell him the strategic points that would be relevant to what they might encounter. "We found this little girl – Helene – who needed help getting her doll from a tree. She claims some boys threw it there. As Aramis and I were helping her, the raiders fired at us. The girl took a musket ball graze in the shoulder, and Aramis' horse disappeared in the confusion. He knew he couldn't burden my horse with three riders, especially when one of those was a hysterical child, crying over the injury in her shoulder."

D'Artagnan now understood his question from earlier when he had asked about why Porthos had left Aramis alone, and as he rode on the other side of Porthos, he filled in what was left unsaid. "Aramis knows he can treat her wound, and he also knows that you needed to get the king's parcels delivered before coming to find us."

"I shouldn't have left him," Porthos muttered.

Athos' calm voice conveyed so much concern that Porthos could not help glancing at him. "Aramis knew his duty, and none us know if what Baron Clamort had in his letter was detrimental information. I think any of us would have done the same."

"That's what I've told myself for the last hour riding back to the garrison," Porthos muttered, "But it still doesn't help me feel better about my decision."

"What's this girl like?" D'Artagnan asked.

Athos glanced at the youngest of them with a tiny smile, grateful that D'Artagnan thought to distract Porthos' self-loathing with a different line of questions.

Porthos passed a quick look between his friends and then he considered little Helene for a moment. "She's this tiny sprout of a child. Looks around seven-years-old, and somewhat cared for. Her clothes were unkempt, her shoes quite worn, but she's been fed regularly. She had blonde hair, and blue eyes that just looked at you with curiosity. Aramis took to her pretty quickly, and she seemed to like him."

Athos shifted his eyes to look ahead of them, adjusting his body on his horse. He had no choice but to continue hiding the knowledge he kept regarding the secret affair and the child that Aramis had with the queen. Only he understood why Aramis would so easily befriend a child. Wanting to be with the son he couldn't have, it would only make sense that Aramis would watch over a daughter that wasn't his. He sought the companionship of a child to substitute for the one he could not have, and this Helene had fallen into his path by some stroke of fate. Athos feared that Aramis would befriend the girl and grow loyally protective of her, taking care of her in place of the son that he could not.

"She just wanted her doll back," Porthos finished. "I felt sorry for her that we couldn't get it before the muskets fired."

D'Artagnan pushed for concrete answers, keeping Porthos from going back into his self-loathing, once he realized that Athos had shifted his thoughts elsewhere. "Where did she even come from?"

"No idea," Porthos replied. "We were riding through this field when we heard her scream. I'm sure she must live somewhere nearby, though."

Studying the landscape, Porthos squinted in the dark and saw the lone fruit tree that was oddly placed in the field, too far from the woods but without any sign of another tree like it. He and Aramis had mused on their journey out to Baron Clamort's that it had probably sprouted after a bird or a mammal managed to drop the seed there years ago. To kill time, the two of them had jokingly debated over which creature had done the deed, and the discussion ended with a round of laughter over the absurdity of two musketeers discussing some tree's origin like a pair of old farmers.

"That way," Porthos pointed, pushing down the heartache that he may never have his brother again to share in such mundane conversations or the shared amusement that follows.

As the group entered the tree line to the woods, Porthos jumped off his horse, wrapping the reins around a tree trunk. He ran ahead, with his musket poised and ready in case the men were still lying in wait. It was near-impossible to see much around the darkness of the trees and brush, but Porthos was determined to find clues. He was aware of Athos and D'Artagnan moving behind him, but even Porthos' logic told him that it would do no good to investigate at night, and they needed to wait until morning.

"Let's return to the horses and get some rest," Athos ordered softly. "At first light, we'll be able to figure out where to start."

Porthos nodded wearily, and followed his companions back to their horses, aware of Athos' apprehension increasing in his voice. D'Artagnan set a hand on Porthos' shoulder, and the older man felt like he was carrying the weight of the entire garrison on his back…because he knew that if they didn't find Aramis alive and safe, the garrison would never be the same again.

##### ##### ##### ##### #####

After a good head start, Aramis settled Helene back onto the ground, and the two of them kept a decent pace for as long as a small child with a musket ball injury and lots of questions could handle. Aramis estimated that she had maintained her silence for maybe ten minutes – if he had been that lucky – and when the questions came, she had asked about how long he had been a musketeer and if he had any family. She wanted to know how far away he lived and if he had ever been hurt.

While their walk was not quite as silent or as quickly-paced as Aramis had hoped it would be, he did his best to answer her questions; however, he often found himself forcing them to pause every few minutes so he could listen to the sounds of the night and duck into the shadows and forestry.

Finally slipping free from another over-grown bush where they had hidden while a large mammal passed them, Helene sucked in a deep breath, her eyes glancing up at the dark tree tops. Her voice was broken, with a fright in it that Aramis had not heard from her before. "It hurts again, and I just know that Papa Gerard is going to punish me. I'm not supposed to be out past dark."

Aramis lifted Helene and set her upon the downed tree they came across near their latest hiding place. Taking a seat next to her, he looked into the dark forest, still listening for noises that were not consistent with nocturnal life.

"I'll explain everything to him," Aramis said soothingly. "Your papa can't punish you if you're under my protection."

Aramis watched as Helene's eyes dropped from his, and she tilted her head in fascination at something on his clothing. He followed her gaze and realized that she was looking at the cross that Anne – Queen Anne – had given to him for saving her life. He lifted it and showed it to the girl, holding it in his hand for her to observe.

"I've never seen anything so shiny," Helene whispered in awe.

"It was a gift from Queen Anne of France, a token she gave me for saving her life," Aramis explained. He then lowered his eyes quickly to hide from Helene the emotions he had developed for the queen. This innocent girl did not need to know about the adult problems of a musketeer and a queen and the treasonous romance that they had shared. He shifted his words instead on what would be important for Helene to know. "People tried to kill her, and I helped stop them."

"Is she nice – the queen?" Helene asked as she brushed a tiny finger over the expensive metal.

"She is kind and wise," Aramis offered, providing no false words, and ensuring that Helene knew Anne was a good person, despite the slander that sometimes is spread because of her Spanish pedigree. "She treats her people with compassion and cares greatly about them. She is also brave and strong without needing weapons."

Helene knitted her brows in curiosity. "Is she pretty? All the stories say that queens and princesses are pretty, except for the evil ones."

Aramis felt a small smile creep across his lips at this child's innocence as he thought about Anne's long, blonde hair, her blue eyes, and how the smile on her face could light up a room. "Yes, the queen is very beautiful, and she is certainly not evil."

Helene's hands fell to her lap as her eyes dropped, and an expression of sadness and despair came over her innocent features. Her voice suddenly teetered on releasing her tears again, as her thoughts quickly shifted. "I don't want to be in these dark woods anymore."

Aramis didn't even think about it. He just saw a child in need of kindness, and he dropped the cross, pulling her into a hug. There was no doubt in his mind to offer comfort to this brave girl who had seen and experienced too much in one day. Her little world suddenly grew exponentially in a matter of hours, and all she wanted was to return to the small corner of her life where she knew every inch and felt safe.

"I know, and it's okay to be scared and sad right now, but I promise that I will keep you safe," he replied, remaining mindful of the injury on her shoulder. Thinking about what Helene said regarding stories and princesses, Aramis decided to try something. "Why don't I tell you a story while we walk the rest of the way?"

Rubbing her tired eyes, Helene nodded against Aramis' chest before she pulled free to look up at him. "Can you tell me one with a happy ending?"

"Of course, I can," Aramis replied gently as he helped Helene from the downed tree and then took her small hand in his. He lifted his musket from his belt, settling it in the other hand, and kept his vigil on the woods around them as they started walking again.

"There was once a princess who was the youngest of four sisters," Aramis began, settling on a simple, formulaic idea and making the rest of it up as he went. "The king adored her the most because she was the kindest but bravest of all her sisters. While her older sisters all wanted princes that would lavish them with expensive gifts, the young princess had no interest in such luxuries. She enjoyed her pretty dresses and her jewelry and the maids that took care of her, but she felt there was something more for her than just being doted upon by a prince. The king, of course, thought she was silly for ignoring the princes who visited and the gifts they presented to try and earn her hand in marriage."

"What is the princess' name?" Helene asked.

Aramis smiled as an idea struck him, and looked towards the child. "Her name was Helene, and her best friend was her maid, Marie."

Giving a little giggle, Helene swiped her free hand across her face, pushing an unruly strand of hair away. "What did Helene want if she didn't want a prince?"

"What any brave princess would want," he said, putting a little excitement into his voice, "An adventure!"

"Did she get her adventure?"

Aramis paused for a moment, as he heard a sound in the woods around them, and he ducked with Helene asking for her silence as he crouched in the dark underbrush. He scanned his eyes across the nightscape, listening again, and when another mammal scurried past them, he took a relieved breath.

"Let's keep moving," he advised as they stood again and began walking once more. Settling back into his storyteller's voice, Aramis continued, "Princess Helene received an invitation to attend a birthday party for Marie's sister, Jeanne. While the king wanted the event to take place at the palace, Princess Helene did not want to insult Marie's family by taking the event from them. She told her father that if he was so concerned about her safety that he should assign her a protector so she could go visit Marie's family."

Helene looked up again at Aramis. "Did she get a musketeer?"

Smiling, Aramis replied, "Even better. She was given a knight named Sir Porthos."

Helene giggled again, the sound infectious. "That's your friend!"

"Well, who better to protect a princess than a strong and brave man like Porthos?" he countered.

"Are you in the story?" Helene asked.

Aramis felt another idea strike him, and he smiled brightly, despite the nightscape around them. "Sir Porthos' squire was named Aramis."

Helene beamed with excitement, her voice squeaking with excitement. "Please, tell me more!"

Aramis raised his finger to his lips, reminding her to keep her words quiet, and then he continued, "The king finally gave in, and he tasked the knight Porthos and his squire Aramis with protecting Princess Helene and her friend, Marie, on their way to Marie's family. Sir Porthos and Aramis traveled on the king's strongest steeds while Princess Helene and Marie were in the royal carriage. Princess Helene and Marie carried a fine box wrapped in a silken bow that contained a beautiful necklace that was the birthday gift chosen for Jeanne. People quickly caught word of the young princess and her entourage traveling through the city to the party, and they lined the streets for the chance to see Princess Helene and her companions. But, there was one man named Armand who did not like the king, because the king would not allow him to raise the taxes on the people who lived on his lands. He thought he could take revenge on the king by harming Princess Helene, and he believed her excursion away from the safety of the palace was the perfect opportunity."

Aramis paused for a moment to conjure up the next part of his story, and Helene remembered to keep her voice soft this time as she pointed in front of them. "My home is just over that hill."

"Excellent. That's more than enough time to finish the tale," he said proudly as they continued forward. "Now what Armand did not know was that Sir Porthos and Aramis had other friends that they trusted to protect Princess Helene and Marie. These two friends were Sir Athos, the bravest of all the knights and his squire D'Artagnan. Suspecting that there might be trouble, Sir Porthos had instructed his friends to travel along in secret amongst the people of the kingdom. They wore disguises of common clothes, but were very clever and looked for people who were not happy and cheerful to see the young princess."

They reached the top of the hill that Helene had indicated earlier, and Aramis could now see about fifteen small houses nestled amongst the shadows from the candle lights within the windows. They were made sturdy enough, far from the standards of a noble's house, but they were certainly not tents or makeshift dwellings. Most of the homes had one or two rooms where the orange glow of candles flickered in the windows, giving a warm radiance to the walkways outside the houses.

"I live in that one," Helene pointed, "The one with the broken chimney on the roof."

Aramis squeezed her hand gently. "I assure you, my tale will be done by the time you open your front door."

Helene looked up to him with trusting eyes, and awaited the last of his story before they descended the hill on the path that had been walked upon many times before.

"Sir Athos was the first to spot one of Armand's men, and before the man could fire his arrow, the brave knight had run him through. D'Artagnan, likewise, found a man working for Armand, and he subdued him before the man could toss his dagger. Princess Helene and Marie arrived at the party, but Sir Porthos suspected that the two men who had been stopped would not be the only ones. He ordered his squire to stay close to Princess Helene while he gave orders to Sir Athos and D'Artagnan to watch the outside of the house. As the party went on and Marie's family began to give their presents to Jeanne to open, Sir Porthos found a houseguest lurking around that was not enjoying himself. Do you know who that guest was?"

"Was it Armand?" Helene asked as they now walked along the pathway towards the houses.

"Very clever, Helene. Do you believe it? He actually showed up to the party thinking he could harm Princess Helene!" Aramis emphasized the excitement in his voice, but kept it low, as he maintained his vigil. "But, wasn't he surprised when he was now surrounded by Sir Athos, Sir Porthos, D'Artagnan, and Aramis. Armand had made the mistake of carrying a dangerous knife concealed on him, and when it was found, his fate was sealed."

"What did Princess Helene do?" the girl asked worriedly.

"Well, that was what made Princess Helene so loved," Aramis continued. "She told her brave knights and squires to take him to the prison and that he would be freed after a month. She wanted her people to know that she was kind and compassionate and that she would not kill him, but she would make sure that she and her protectors were always watching him."

Standing now in front of the door to Helene's home, she asked, "And did she watch Armand?"

"Armand was freed from prison, but he died three months later from poor health," Aramis concluded. "Princess Helene and Marie remained safe under the care of the king's knights. And, the king's knights had many more adventures after that. But…those are stories for another time."

"I want to hear about their other stories," Helene said as she pushed open the door to her home.

Before she even stepped inside, she was greeted by her step-father's booming voice. "It's after dark, and you were warned about that. Now, make sure you wipe your feet!"

Helene paused before entering the house and shuffled her worn shoes over a dingy mat that was useless for removing the dirt. Still, she did as told anyway.

Aramis followed, scraping his boots and taking his cavalier from his head as he stepped inside. He silently observed the man he presumed was Helene's step-father sitting at a small table, leaning backwards on the wooden seat. Taking a moment to study the man, Aramis noted that Helene's step-father appeared a few years older than he did. The man had dark hair that was speckled with unruly strands of deep gray and dark eyes that were bloodshot and weary. He wore a tunic and pants that were in far better shape than the clothing Helene was wearing. Time had not been entirely kind to this man, as his body was overly round in the belly and showing signs of too much drink.

"Just what have you done this time?" the man questioned harshly as he picked up the bottle from the table and took a swig. "It's not enough to break my rules, but now you break the king's laws, too?"

Aramis gave a half-bow, stepping forward to deflect Helene's step-father. "I am Aramis of the King's Musketeers…"

Suddenly a young woman, looking no older than seventeen, appeared from another room, and her long brown hair was braided into a ponytail that was hanging down the front of her left shoulder. Aramis presumed this was Helene's step-sister, Madeleine, and unlike the near-rags that Helene wore, Madeleine was dressed in nice fabrics that were designed to display her as a potential mate. While she was not entirely beautiful, her face did have a symmetry that provided her with attractive features. Her brown eyes twinkled, and she sighed as she smiled at the sight of Aramis.

"You keep your eyes to yourself, Madeleine," Gerard ordered. Then he turned to the young child, momentarily ignoring the musketeer, his bellow interrupting whatever else Aramis had planned to say. "Helene! You better start talking."

Helene shook her head. "It wasn't my fault…"

Tiredly, Gerard cut her off. "No more lies, child."

Shifting his eyes from Madeleine, as Aramis perceived that she was no threat to Helene, Aramis put his attention towards Helene's step-father, doing everything he could to keep his voice even, despite hearing the man's false accusations against the young child. "Helene has done nothing. She was merely witness to some suspicious events earlier today and is in need of protection until the culprits can be brought to justice. I have a duty to keep her safe until I can have her testify what she has witnessed."

Gerard brushed his hand in his hair. "You're wasting your time, musketeer, and I apologize for Helene. She fabricates many stories."

"I do not!" the girl shouted.

"The enemy muskets fired upon Helene and myself and the musket ball that grazed her speak otherwise," Aramis defended coldly. "As do the men I killed to protect her."

Madeleine, brought a hand to her mouth and gasped softly, her motions slightly over-exaggerated to bring attention to her. "You must be so brave."

"Go to your room, Madeleine," Gerard pressed angrily. "I will not have you flirting and tarnishing my name – again – and acting like some lust-craved whore."

Madeleine grumbled something incoherent, but she did as told, and Gerard then turned his attention back to Helene. His words were scolding, and he pointed a thick finger at her with one hand while using his other hand to take another drink. "I told you not to be running around those woods with those damn Baptiste Brothers. They are nothing but trouble."

"They took Marie again…" Helene started.

"And how many times do I have to tell you that it's just a doll?" Gerard shouted.

"But Mama gave me Marie!" Helene cried before she burst out in tears. Then, she turned and ran from the house, her sobbing carrying in the night air.

Aramis felt a wash of anger come over him, and for as calm as he tried to remain, he was at least proud of himself for not landing a fist into Gerard's jaw. However, he made no attempt to keep the annoyance or the volume out of his voice. "Helene is just a child, who's been through a traumatic event! How dare you speak to her without compassion!"

Gerard puffed himself up and slammed his fist on the table. His rebuke was equally annoyed and cold, and he pointed a thick finger towards Aramis. "You have no authority to come into my home and discipline my parenting, musketeer! By law, she is my daughter, and I will treat her as I see fit. Now, go do something for the king and stop harassing his subjects!"

Aramis stood to his full height and set his hat back on his head, understanding now just what Helene meant when she said that her father yells at her all the time. Aramis was certain that he would never get through to such a man regarding his concerns to have the child in his care treated properly. "Until you find sobriety, Helene will remain under my protection."

"Take her, then!" Gerard shouted while waving his hand as though throwing him out the door. When Aramis turned to leave, the drunkard pressed, "It's one less chance she will become a whore like her sister and one less dowry for me to worry about if she doesn't."

Aramis stepped outside the house and finally unclenched the fists that he didn't realize were so tightly clasped. He looked upwards and took a calming breath to settle his anger when he heard the sound of Helene's crying. Feeling his frustrations suddenly evaporate, Aramis followed the sound of the young girl's sobs until he found her near the well in the center of the small village sitting on the ground with her knees curled to her chest.

He glanced at her briefly, and his heart broke at how this child was so small and helpless with no one to defend her. He turned for a moment to glimpse the house that he had just left, and then swallowed down the unfairness of how fate had given this child to a man who was supposed to legally protect her but would rather nurse his wine addiction than her broken heart.

"I still haven't checked on your injury," Aramis offered softly, as he looked down to the child.

Helene brought her eyes up and wiped her face with her sleeve, her words hiccupping between her tears. "It…doesn't hurt…anymore."

Aramis crouched before her and tapped her chest, near the top of her breast bone, indicating her heart, "That's because this hurts more."

Helene thought about that for a long moment and then looked to the house that was her only world, despite how unhappy it was. Her words were steadier now that she was in the company of the musketeer who was more comfortable to be around than her own father. "I go to the woods to hide from Papa's meanness. But, when the Baptiste Brothers are there, they make me bad."

Aramis took his cavalier from his head and held it in his hands before him. "You are not bad and cannot be made bad. Your father accuses you without proper evidence." Thinking of something to brighten the girl's spirits, Aramis considered the one thing she cherished above all else. "Now, what can you tell me about Marie? If we're going to prepare a rescue mission tomorrow to save her, I need to know a little about our damsel in distress."

Helene looked at the ground for a long moment, her eyes seeming to consider it, and when she looked up, there was a trust in her eyes that Aramis had noticed she had not shared with him before.

"Mama made her for me before she died," Helene explained, her small voice sounding lost. "She said it was so I could always have a part of her with me. Marie is my only friend."

Aramis shifted himself onto one knee before Helene and looked at this child that was so unwanted and unloved. He thought about his son who was overly wanted and loved, and that he couldn't even get close to him without it raising the suspicion of treason. Where Helene ached for a parent to love her, he ached for a life with his child.

"I could use a friend, too," Aramis said and looked to Helene.

"But, you have friends," she told him sadly, "Real people."

"Yes, but none like you," Aramis replied, thinking quickly to give this child just a little hope. "I'm always around men and adults, but you are kind and clever in ways that they are not."

The girl shifted her eyes from the musketeer to the houses around them, her eyes settling on one home, in particular. "Mistress Jacqueline will let us stay with her for the night. She knows Papa can be mean sometimes. I'll tell her you're my friend."

Aramis smiled and stood, and he offered Helene his one hand while he used the other to put his hat back on his head. She took his hand and started pulling him towards the house where they would find shelter together.


	4. Chapter 4-The Secret Father

Author's Notes: Thank you again for the reviews and the follows! I appreciate the interest greatly! This is probably one of my favorite chapters in the story. I think it was also the quickest chapter I had written, and there is a dynamic amongst the characters that was just so magical to write. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

 **Chapter 4 – The Secret Father**

Knocking purposefully, but politely on the door, Helene kept her other hand within Aramis' grasp and looked at him, offering a small smile. After a long moment, the door opened and an older woman appeared. She was thin, her skin wrinkled from age and the elements. Her gray hair was pulled up into a bun on her head that had loose tendrils slipping free. Her brown eyes were kind and concerned, and her clothing was nearly as simple as Helene's, just cleaner.

"Helene, what are you doing here at this hour, and who is your handsome companion?" the old woman asked with a smile in her eyes, shifting her gaze between the young girl and the man accompanying her.

Aramis noticed that Helene seemed comfortable and relaxed in the old woman's presence, and her voice was full of pride as she introduced him. "Mistress Jacqueline, this is Aramis. He's a king's musketeer, and my friend."

"Oh my, the company you keep, Helene!" Jacqueline breathed, her voice somewhere between genuine surprise and bewilderment. "Do come in, Sir Aramis. Any friend of Helene's is welcome here."

Aramis took his cavalier from his head as Helene continued to lead him into the house, and Jacqueline closed the door behind them. He observed quickly that Mistress Jacqueline's home was brightly lit with a number of candles on various stands throughout the house. He concluded that it would make sense if her eyesight was beginning to deteriorate, and she would need the extra light to move safely throughout her home. The arrangement inside was simple, with a small wooden table, two chairs, and a cushioned bench that was against one of the walls. Her cooking area was close to the table, and she had blankets that looked freshly knitted sitting upon a loom in a corner. He did not see a bed, so he presumed that it must be in a separate room behind one of the two curtained doorways that branched off from the main room.

"Thank you, Madame," Aramis said, bowing formally as he watched the old woman moving back towards the center of the house.

"Jacqueline is fine," she told him quickly with a wave of her hand, as though throwing propriety out a window.

Smiling in reply, Aramis explained, "Then, no formalities on my part either."

"I met Aramis in the woods," Helene offered, as she now stood between the two adults, and gave her attention back to Jacqueline. "He couldn't get Marie from the tree when the Baptiste Brothers threw her there. Then, the men nearly killed us with their muskets. Aramis told me knows the queen, and he told me a story about Sir Porthos the knight."

"Goodness!" Jacqueline said, shaking her head in confusion before bringing those old eyes to look upon Aramis.

Putting a gentle hand on Helene's good shoulder, the musketeer looked towards the old woman, deciding to take the explanation of Helene's rushed words one step at a time. "It's quite a long story, one I can explain in better detail later. We had attempted to talk with Helene's father first, but he seemed less than cooperative or concerned regarding Helene's predicament. He sent us away, and Helene said you would be kind enough to take her for the night."

Scattering herself around the house and quickly placing things back where they belonged, Jacqueline gestured to the table with the chairs. "I'm not surprised by that man's lack of consideration," the old woman said quickly and quietly. Then, she turned her attention towards one of the back rooms and disappeared momentarily, returning with a stool in her hands. "I apologize for the lack of furnishings. I have so few visitors."

"I should apologize to you," Aramis replied as he quickly threw his hat on his head so he could take the stool from her, politely removing the burden of the furniture's weight from her hands. "I am the one imposing on your home."

Jacqueline waved his apology aside as he took the stool and set it down while she instructed the child to use it. "Helene, please sit, and I'll make sure you both have something to eat."

Helene scurried to sit on the stool as though this was a normal occurrence in her life, and Aramis took a seat at the table, placing his cavalier upon it while Jacqueline scooped a vegetable stew into a couple bowls from a pot over the fire in the cooking area. He had offered to help, but the old woman teasingly joked that she was old, not incapable and to rest his overly energetic bones. Setting down the bowls on the table, Jacqueline then took the seat opposite from Aramis, and Helene eagerly began slurping her dinner.

"She's not in trouble, is she?" Jacqueline asked as her eyes looked over Aramis' uniform, recognizing that he held authority in the king's name.

"Not in the sense that she needs discipline," Aramis replied between bites of hot vegetables. "She has witnessed quite an event, and I am protecting her until my fellow musketeers can arrive and resolve the situation."

Removing Helene's bonnet and setting it aside on the far end of the table near Aramis' cavalier, Jacqueline brushed her bony fingers through Helene's hair to pull it from her face and cheeks as she ate.

Concern was etched in her voice as the old woman asked, "Is she still in danger?"

"Not from what I could tell," Aramis responded carefully, not certain that he wanted to alarm Jacqueline with his uneasiness regarding his instincts telling him that the men attacking them had ended their search just a little too quickly. "The criminals lost sight of us in the woods, and their priorities shifted back to their business instead of staying on us."

"You lie terribly, Aramis," Jacqueline said flatly, but with a small smile. "But, I trust you'll keep this one safe. I can see that much in your eyes."

Aramis slurped a spoonful of broth and shifted his glance to the child instead. "You're a rather observant woman."

"I have my experiences," Jacqueline nodded with a relaxed smile. Then, changing topics, she sighed, and shook her head in frustration, causing a few of those loose, gray tendrils to fall free. "The way that so-called step-father of hers talks, you would think that this one is headed for the Bastille and the gallows."

Chewing on another vegetable – this one cooler than the first – Aramis offered his observations before nodding his thanks. "He was less than cordial, even in my presence. And, this stew is wonderful, Jacqueline. I haven't eaten in a number of hours."

"Enjoy as much as you like, Aramis," Jacqueline smiled. "It'll only go to spoil if no one eats it."

Aramis glanced at Helene's injury and in the candlelight of the house, he could now see that the blood on her shoulder was starting to harden, but there was still fresh blood occasionally trickling from the wound. "I hope it's not too imposing, but would you happen to have some wine, or perhaps a stronger brew?"

"I have a few old bottles of wine, but if you want stronger spirits, you should talk to Gerard," Jacqueline said, resting her hands now on the table.

"Not for me," Aramis said, nodding to the gash on Helene's shoulder. "She was grazed by a musket ball in the fight, and I haven't had a chance yet to assess the wound. I need to make sure it doesn't get infected."

"Oh dear," Jacqueline breathed, "I do have something you can use." She stood and quickly moved to get some supplies, including a darkened bottle of wine, and then she began boiling a small kettle of water above the fire where the stew had been.

At first, Helene was too busy eating to care what the adults were discussing, but when she saw the scraps of material on the table, and the style of bottle she knew only came out when she was hurt, Helene scrambled off the stool.

Swallowing down the last of his stew, Aramis watched the little girl hurry from the table.

"It doesn't hurt anymore," she lied, backing away.

Jacqueline sighed heavily from her place near the kettle of water. "She's a fighter, Aramis. Be warned, she will sound as though she's been possessed by the Devil himself."

Aramis picked up the empty bowls and used utensils and took them to the small table where Jacqueline stored her dishes awaiting cleaning. He then stroked the hair on his chin, watching Helene intently while pulling on a few strands of his goatee for a long moment until inspiration struck him.

"I'm not going to lie, Helene," Aramis told her flatly, offering no falseness in his words. "It will hurt. But, I've seen you be very brave today. Now, would you like to know a secret?"

Helene stood in the middle of the floor with her hands clasped behind her and looked from Jacqueline to Aramis, her blue eyes both suspicious and curious. "What secret?"

Aramis moved towards the table, aware of Jacqueline watching him carefully as she set a bowl of the freshly-boiled water upon it. He sent his words back towards Helene while he took his weapons and holster belts off his coat, setting them on the far end of the table near Helene's bonnet and his cavalier. "I'll only tell you if you let me look at that wound and make sure it will heal properly."

Inching herself closer, Helene stared at Aramis, watching him carefully. Her suspicion had been overridden by her curiosity now. "I want to know the secret."

"Good," Aramis agreed as he lifted her and sat her on the table gently. "Now, I'm going to ask Mistress Jacqueline to open your dress a little so I can see your shoulder. Then, I'm just going to look at the wound. If we get that far without you fighting, I'll tell you the secret."

Aramis waited for Jacqueline to untie the laces on Helene's dress and then shift it off her shoulder, exposing the graze along her skin. It was bright red, where the musket ball struck hardest, and it was discolored where it was beginning to show signs of bruising from the impact. He noticed that the wound wasn't deep, which was good because it would not require any stitching, but it was going to need a proper cleansing. He just didn't want to take the chance of her getting infected and getting sick.

Aramis took a quick look at the bottle, opening it and sniffing the wine within it, convinced that it was as good a brew as any other he had used. He watched Helene as she kicked her legs while they hung over the edge of the table and that she played with her fingers fearfully as he assessed her injury with only his eyes. Looking to Jacqueline, the musketeer nodded, letting her know that he was prepared to disinfect the injured area.

"Helene, here's what I'm going to do," Aramis told her, and as he caught her attention, he saw the tears building in her eyes. "I'm going to clean your shoulder, and I won't stop you from screaming and crying if it helps you feel better. Do you want to know why?"

"The secret?" Helene asked quietly, hesitation in her voice.

"Yes, the secret," Aramis smiled, reassuring her as best he could. "Now, you remember my friend Porthos?"

Helene nodded silently, and Aramis prepared one of the rags with the wine. Jacqueline took Helene's hands in hers, and Aramis was careful about how he would handle the next few seconds. He knew there was a technique in what he would say that would either execute this flawlessly or become the biggest disaster he could imagine with this child.

"The secret, Helene, is that Porthos screams and fights, too, and we always have to knock him out. Now it's up to you as to whether you can be braver than Porthos." Aramis paused, his tone half-humorous and half-serious, timing his words carefully, as he finally set the drenched rag onto Helene's shoulder while he finished his explanation. "Because I really don't want to have to make you unconscious."

Helene let out a piercing shriek and cried, kicking her legs against the table as Aramis soaked the open sore with the wine. Jacqueline kept her distance from the girl's wild legs and released her hands when they started fighting against her grasp. Instead, the old woman brushed her wrinkled and bony hands against Helene's face, pushing tears off her cheeks and pulling her hair from the shoulder where the musketeer was working. Aramis felt a pain spike in his chest at the torment the poor child was experiencing, and he wished he knew of better remedies than his battlefield knowledge.

Something in him had suddenly awakened powerfully, and with the compassion he had been developing for this child, he felt his fatherly instincts arise from deep within him. Putting an arm around Helene's small waist, Aramis snuggled her against him and felt her hands grasp onto his coat instead of flying wildly around her. Gently, he kissed the top of her head as he dabbed the wine-soaked cloth on her wound, listening to her crying echo in the small house.

"You're being very brave, Helene," Aramis said encouragingly against her hair, keeping his voice soft as he spoke between her sobs. "Porthos would be jealous, indeed."

Aramis then squeezed the rag that had been soaked in the warm water and touched it gently around the wound, cleaning the old blood and wine and removing the fresh blood. He rinsed the rag and continued with this a few more times before holding a fresh, dry rag there to collect the large blood drops. Helene tucked herself tighter into his chest and cried, and he realized that only one of her small hands was clutching to his coat, as the other was holding onto the cross from Anne tightly.

Jacqueline stood and whispered to Aramis that she was going to find fresh clothes for Helene. He acknowledged her with a silent nod, grateful for her assistance.

"You truly are a brave girl," Aramis said to Helene, no longer cleaning her injury, but instead gently pulling wild strands from her face as she stayed curled against him. He heard her crying settle now to just soft whimpers, and he glanced again at the gash, noting that it should heal no worse than a badly scrapped knee, and she had been very fortunate in her ordeal. Silently, Aramis smiled with relief at the memories of treating Porthos' wounds and the fights his friend had given over the years to Athos and himself.

Softly, in a conspiratorial way, he whispered to Helene, "I'm not so sure that we should let Porthos know that you did better than he would. I'm so glad I didn't have to knock you out."

Helene responded by snuggling in tighter to him, and he held her in silence, his free hand continuing to brush strands from her damp cheeks. There was a contentment he felt in this moment, and part of him wanted to stay forever with this child, protecting her from the horrors of the world. He was beginning to think that God had led him on this path to meet Helene, and he wondered if it was because she needed a real father – someone who would care for her the way he did.

Long moments later, Aramis' thoughts were broken when Jacqueline returned with a white nightgown that was a little too big for Helene, but was too small for the old woman.

Bringing her eyes to Aramis, Jacqueline laughed briefly. "You're a clever medic. Not only did you exhaust her, but I don't think she's ever fallen asleep quite that fast before."

"I swear I used no poisons," Aramis replied quietly with a hint of humor. "She simply had an exhausting day, and it finally came to an end."

"Well, she won't need this now, and I can save it for next time," Jacqueline said, nodding to the clothing in her hands. "If you don't mind settling her in for me, she usually sleeps on the bed in the room on the left."

Cradling the sleeping child in his arms, Aramis carried her to the small bed in the room as Jacqueline assisted with little preparations around the room. After Aramis settled Helene on the blankets, the two of them removed her shoes before tucking her under a set of thin covers.

Returning to the main area of the house, Jacqueline started picking up the rags and setting them on a small pile of laundry that needed tending. She glanced at Aramis, her experienced eyes seeing so much. "You either have children or you desperately ache for one…or perhaps a little of both."

Aramis swallowed hard and shifted his gaze, trying not to think about if he would ever have a chance to heal his son's scrapes and cuts. Scratching at the back of his head, he faked a charming smile. "Helene just has a way with adults."

"A secret child, then," Jacqueline nodded in confirmation as she motioned for him to sit at the table but remained standing. "I told you, Aramis, you're a terrible liar. I won't ask details, but be careful, for it shows. Now, what exactly has Helene become involved with?"

Aramis sat wearily in the chair, not quite realizing just how much he ached suddenly – physically, mentally, and emotionally. His body was tired and his heart cried silently for his son, and he had to do everything in his power to continue deflecting the want he had for time with his child. Jacqueline seemed to sense that as well, and rather than dwell on the child he could not have, she had asked instead about Helene's predicament.

Aramis felt no need to hold back what had happened to Helene, as Jacqueline had a trust about her, particularly where Helene was concerned. He found himself easily telling the old woman what had happened earlier in the woods with Helene and the attackers. He took the time to add in the details that Helene omitted from her abbreviated version when they first arrived earlier. He explained Porthos' involvement and how he had sent his friend away, before taking on the attackers himself. He then talked about escorting Helene back to her home, using a story to keep her distracted from her ordeal before he discussed his short but infuriating time in Gerard's presence.

Jacqueline simply absorbed the musketeer's thorough retelling in silence, listening patiently as Aramis spoke. He saw that she allowed him the time to talk in his own manner, without prompting or interrupting, her body language showing patience and understanding. Her only reaction was the worrying way she wrung her hands before her and how she nodded her head in concern, knowing she could do nothing to protect the child in her care.

Feeling that he had given the old woman an accurate recounting of Helene's ordeal, Aramis decided to push a little on his own questions. "Jacqueline, what can you tell me about Helene?"

Jacqueline finally took the seat opposite him and poured them both glasses of wine. She would take a few sips occasionally as she spoke, more for strength than to enjoy the beverage. "Helene had the most wonderful parents – very loving and kind. Her father was a good man who helped bring this small village together and worked to protect it. Helene's mother – Francoise – was born into a well-to-do home, but she gave it up to be with her husband. Helene's father died when she was maybe two or three. A small group of bandits had run through our little village, and he stood against them. He survived the attack, but it was the infection from his blade wounds that took him a couple weeks later."

Pausing to take another sip, Jacqueline continued, "Gerard – Helene's step-father – had been married previously, but his wife died a few months before he married Helene's mother. It was no lie that Gerard had his eyes on Francoise for quite some time. The gossips would say that he had a roving eye, and Helene's mother was his target for many years. Francoise was devoted to her husband, but after he died, she confided in me that she was going to give into Gerard's advances, believing that Helene would have a stable home. A few months after they were married, Francoise grew ill, and within a year she was gone. Unfortunately, a man like Gerard is only as good as the woman beside him, and after losing Helene's mother, the only stable home that child has had was mine."

Jacqueline paused for a long moment, and Aramis remained patient in his silence, watching as the old woman took a long drink, something she had not done until this moment. Then, with a tiny smile, she explained, "I may put up a good façade, but even I cannot deny that time has made me old and frail. My seasons on this Earth are growing shorter, and I do all I can to hide it from Helene. Gerard is too concerned with nursing his grief over Francoise to show any real compassion for Helene, and he has even slandered his own daughter, Madeleine, with his drinking tirades."

Aramis downed a huge mouthful of the wine before him, emptying the cup, and he wondered why he cared so greatly for this child that he barely knew. Every part of him screamed to take Helene with him from this village and to do everything in his power to give her a better life.

Still, he had more questions, and he gently pressed, "Helene mentions the Baptiste Brothers quite often. What do you know of them?"

Nodding, Jacqueline set her hand on her empty cup but did not pick it up or refill it. "Marcel and Bernard. They are twins, both twelve. They have teased Helene since she was old enough to be outside the house on her own. They have no discipline, and their mother has never been able to keep a handle on them. Their father left shortly after they were born, no reason. He just packed his things one morning and was gone. You'll know the brothers if you meet them. They are inseparable blondes with mischief always brewing in their hazel eyes. Marcel is the scrawny one, and Bernard is the stocky one, so you can easily discern which one is the healthier of the two."

Feeling his eyes drop to the pattern of the woodgrain on the table before him, Aramis could not help himself as he pursued his next line of thoughts. "Gerard practically kicked Helene out of the house in my presence. Does she have anyone other than you to care for her after I leave?"

"I think you know the answer to that, Aramis," Jacqueline replied softly. "And, you also know that you already have a full agenda. It would be unwise and unreasonable for a musketeer to balance his duty to the crown with that of a secret child and a publicly adopted one."

Bringing his eyes up, Aramis shook his head, refusing to believe that he could not help Helene. "I can make inquiries with those who have influence to see if there is some way to give Helene a better upbringing…"

"I warn you, Aramis, that in doing so you'll make a habit of collecting strays," Jacqueline interrupted delicately. "Finding a home for a child is much harder than it seems, and the longer she is in your care, the more difficult it will be to find someone you will trust with her. If the day comes that you find a good place – no matter how kind and loving her new family will be – you will never be able to let her go…at least not emotionally. Trust me, I know."

Aramis mulled over her words for long moments, observing Jacqueline as she stood and gathered the empty cups and the wine bottle in her hands. She then started slowly moving around the house, tidying it, and he watched her distractedly as his thoughts were consumed with the children that always remained just out of his reach.

Dropping his forehead into his hand, Aramis now looked to the tabletop again, his heart aching with the thoughts of Helene being left to Gerard's spiteful behaviors and no longer having the sanctuary of Jacqueline's kindness.

"I can't do nothing," Aramis said softly, his eyes rising up to Jacqueline.

"I know," the old woman said with that kind smile on her face again – the one that spoke of the experiences that needed no words to share with him. "I meant it when I said any friend of Helene's is welcome here. The cushioned bench is at your disposal, and I recommend you get some rest. Sleep on your thoughts, Aramis, and see what the morning brings when your head is clearer."

Aramis silently kept his eyes on Jacqueline as she slipped behind the curtained room that was next to the one where Helene was sleeping. He picked up his weapons from the table and moved himself to the bench that the old woman had indicated he could use. As he sat on it, he set his weapons within easy reach around the floor in a strategic placement. While he felt his heart breaking in ways he was still learning it could, his sense of duty warned him that he needed to be wary. He was still not certain that the men who had attacked them earlier were gone, and there was something nagging at the back of his head about how quickly they had given up the hunt. He just hoped that he would meet up with his brothers long before those men continued their pursuit.


	5. Chapter 5-Morning's Gifts

_Author's Notes_ : Thank you once again to everyone who is following and has left reviews. You are all so amazing and gracious, and I appreciate the interest sincerely! This chapter will take a slight change of pace, as I felt it important to keep the minor characters involved while our main characters move forward in their adventures.

 **Chapter 5 – Morning's Gifts**

Porthos had awakened at the first crack of gray along the horizon, and was disappointed that his eyes continued to show him the darkness that still enshrouded the woods. He had slept horribly, and not because he was hungry and confined to a patch of soft ferns. He slept horribly because he wanted to search the woods for signs of Aramis and the little girl, Helene. He needed something to confirm their fates, and not knowing was doing more damage to him mentally and emotionally than if he had stumbled across their musket ball-ridden bodies.

Watching the shadows of night creep their way out of the woods, Porthos had eaten handfuls of raspberries that he recognized growing on a bush near his sleeping area. He had remedied his body's physiological needs earlier and left his mark, so to speak, near the roots of a dead tree. By the time he had returned from his excursion, Athos and D'Artagnan had handled their needs as well.

With the three of them now awake and awaiting the shadows of night to give way to the daylight grays that they could at least see within, they mounted their horses. Porthos once again, led the way towards the area where he was certain he had last seen Aramis.

Gray had finally shifted into yellow, and the light peered through the trees, sending sunbeams between the leaves and trunks. Unlike the heavy oranges of the sunset from the evening before, these bright yellow highlights of morning gave a lighter weight to the land, and Porthos began to recognize the shrubs that were closest to the tree he sought.

"This tree took some damage," D'Artagnan noted, his hand touching upon one of the musket holes in a tree trunk near where Porthos was investigating.

Athos slid off his horse and turned over a dead body that was beneath a bright green bush, with another body laying nearly beneath it. "Looks like Aramis' handiwork. These are very precise wounds."

Porthos heard admiration and a shard of hope in his brother's voice, and as he shifted on his horse, he looked up. "There's Helene's doll."

"Another body," D'Artagnan commented as he came around a tree with a much wider trunk that was a little further from where Porthos had been positioned.

Athos joined him and examined the body, his index finger indicating, without touching, the bloodied area of the man's chest and the gray soot outlining the fatal wound. "That entry point was done at close range. There's a lot of powder around it."

Porthos dismounted his horse and squinted against a beam of sunlight that cracked through a set of branches. The light shot directly in his eyes, and he instinctively shielded his hand over his forehead to block against the bright morning rays. He stepped out of the blinding light and looked at the ground for anything else that would help. He saw branches on a number of bushes that were broken and bent, and he followed the rough pathway that had been created by the snapped foliage. It led him to a large shrub where all the lowest branches had been haphazardly fragmented. It gave an unnatural twist to the bottom of the plant, marking it as an obvious concealment place.

"Someone hid here," Porthos pointed out. "The leaves beneath are scattered more than any animal would do."

Athos looked around the forest, the subtle hope in his voice actually breaking through the monotone of it. "Aramis has a clever way about him that even I tend to forget he possesses. Perhaps he and the girl used the cover of night and the old burrow under this bush until their attackers left the area. I don't see any other signs of a struggle."

The sounds of footsteps and leaves shifting on the woodland floor sent each of the three men on alert, and they all ducked into the forestry. Setting their muskets into position to fire upon the direction of the noise, they waited both patiently and cautiously. The steps grew louder, and each of them collectively hoped that Aramis would be embarking through the foliage at any moment.

Porthos peered through the branches and leaves on the shrub he was hiding near, and he had decided that if this was not Aramis, it had better be someone that they could interrogate. His hands were itching for a fight, and he suddenly had no reservations about taking that frustration out on the people who thought it wise to kill a little girl and his musketeer brother.

The steps quickened to a faster pace, and as Porthos raised his head from the thicket to identify their prey, he heard a whinny and a snort from a horse. As the horse stepped closer, the three of them carefully peered from their places of concealment. The horse was carrying the supplies and bags they all recognized as being common to the musketeer garrison.

Appearing in good health, the horse casually moved along the browns and greens of the forest, and none of the bags strapped to the horse's saddle showed signs of tampering. Porthos watched for a moment as the animal stopped to chew on the berries from one of the bushes. The horse then snorted once more, and the musketeers had come to the realization that it was Aramis' steed.

Standing from the brush, Porthos set his musket back on his belt. His rhetorical questions were meant to be frustrating, but ended up sounding comical instead. "Decided to come back to the scene of the crime, did you? Where were you last night when we could have used your useless hide?"

The horse stomped its front foot and shook his mane, blinking in recognition of the humans it knew took care of it.

D'Artagnan stepped towards Aramis' horse, and began stroking the bridge of the animal's nose. His voice was soothing, talking to the animal as one would a young child. "Don't let Uncle Porthos scare you. We are hoping you know where Aramis went."

"It's a horse, D'Artagnan," Porthos muttered, "Not something you can interrogate."

"You're scaring him," the younger musketeer teased as the horse nudged its head against D'Artagnan's shoulder. The young Gascon brushed his hand against the horse's neck, smiling at Porthos. "And, he doesn't like it."

Athos turned to his friends, his words relaying instructions but his tone serious. "We'll take him with us while we scout the forest. If we come across Aramis, he'll require the steed. From what I can tell, there are enough broken branches that we should be able to follow Aramis' route, and I doubt they would have gotten too far since the girl was hurt."

Porthos heard the concern again in Athos' voice, but before they started following the trail of broken bushes and snapped twigs, he knew there was something that they needed to do. He looked at his friends and caught their eyes. "Not yet, Athos. We have something to take care of before we head off."

Athos and D'Artagnan shared a quick look, not quite understanding at first, but as they watched Porthos walking in a particular direction, they realized his intentions. Nodding at each other, they followed Porthos knowing exactly what it was he wanted of them.

##### ##### ##### ##### #####

Captain Treville moved about the ornate halls of the palace, his footsteps moving with purpose, despite his attention placed elsewhere. It was hard enough to know that Aramis had not returned with Porthos, but now all of his most trusted musketeers were out somewhere in the wild beyond the border of Paris. It was far from the first time that they had gone about in search of one of their own, but it was the urgency in Porthos' reactions last night that had him concerned more than usual.

Treville rubbed his eyes with his fingers on his right hand as he carried the package under his left arm, realizing that he had barely slept last night after his musketeers had left in search of Aramis, and he knew exactly why their absence bothered him so greatly. Even though he never admitted it to them directly, he had adopted each of them as the sons he would raise as his own. He never had the good fortune of finding the right woman, the one who would understand that his men in the musketeers would be as important to him as she and any children they would share. And because of that, he lived a solitary life, unburdened with dividing his time between a home and the men who might as well be his own children.

Aware of the sunlight streaking through the windows as he walked past, Treville paused and looked out over the landscape for a long moment. He knew he could not see the area of the woods where Aramis was last seen and his other adopted sons had headed, but he looked to the light in the hopes that they would all return and defy the odds, just as they always had.

Feeling the weight of the parcel under his arm, Treville shifted the package to distribute its mass in both his hands as he took a slow breath. He adjusted the correspondence from Baron Clamort, settling the wax-sealed envelope atop the wooden box in his hands. He momentarily studied the wooden box, noting that it was shorter than the length of a typical musket but as wide as a leather-bound book. It was deep enough to carry such a manuscript upright, standing on its spine, but the box itself was plain and without decoration. Attached to the latch on the box was a ribbon with a small piece of parchment that simply read, " _For France's Dauphin._ "

Treville turned from the windows now and continued on his walk down the hallway to the main chamber where King Louis and Queen Anne were holding morning court. The ministers and nobility were finishing up their business, and nearly all of them had filed out of the room down the hallway. Treville had to patiently await their passing before he could get near the door, but as the group scattered down the hallways, Treville was now close enough to the throne room to see the dark-haired king and his blonde-haired queen still sitting upon their dais. As he neared the throne room, Treville nodded to the guards who nodded their acknowledgement in reply to him, recognizing a face as familiar as the captain of the musketeers.

He passed silently through the open doors, aware that, Rochefort, the dark-clad blonde with the piercing gray eyes was whispering something into Louis' ear, but what was said, Treville could not discern. After a moment, Louis gave an amused look to the other and then Rochefort sidled out one of the doors.

Somewhat elated that he had dodged the "Rochefort Musket Ball," as Treville had mentally called such passing moments, the captain of the musketeers moved towards his sovereigns and bowed formally for their attention. They were every bit the epitome of royalty as they sat upright on their thrones, politely separated from each other to hide that their relationship was merely professional, but close enough to appear as one entity to their subjects. He reflected on how they were once closer to each other some time ago – friends of a sort – but after the dauphin had grown ill early after his birth, Louis had taken with mistresses. Even after the baby had become well again, there was a coldness and separation that still existed between the king and queen, which Treville had been privy to and not by choice. He had caught their interactions without intention and saw that their relationship had grown distant. He wondered how much of that was simply because of unfortunate circumstances due a long marriage that was not built on their own foundation, but on the demands of others.

Catching that the king and queen were both wearing ensembles in silks of blue and gray dyes, Treville perceived it as a fitting color of melancholy, as he often found himself quietly sympathizing with Anne over her predicament. He had hoped he was wrong, but he could not help the perception that she was nothing more than a pawn for Louis, especially now that he had the heir that he required of her.

Pushing aside the dramas that played out in court, Treville used such knowledge to revel in his gratitude that he was fortunate to hold the position of Captain of the Musketeers. He didn't think he would ever be ready to wear the cloak and medallion of the titles and positions that so often surrounded Louis, especially with the drama that continued to play throughout court. At least commanding his musketeers held a certain honesty in it, and he never needed to play a false character with a hidden mask in order to survive the feeding frenzy that the court gossips loved feasting upon.

Treville took a final step forward and kept his voice professional, not offering them any iota of the concern that boiled within him for his missing musketeers. "Your Majesties, I present to you a package that Baron Clamort had requested make its way to your possession."

Louis gave one of his half-smiles, his head cocked slightly, and he exhibited amused annoyance in his expression as his brown eyes studied Treville. "And just why wasn't this presented to us yesterday afternoon? Baron Clamort's not even a half-day's ride from here, and I know that he would not have needed an entire evening to respond to my letter."

Anne shot her husband an annoyed glance before offering her kind and wise eyes to Treville. "The delay must have been inevitable. We know that Captain Treville would not simply withhold such items without proper cause."

"Thank you, Her Majesty," Treville smiled tightly in reply, bowing again slightly. He had hoped to keep it quiet that his four most trust musketeers were missing, but the king had just played his hand, and now Treville was left providing an explanation. Keeping his tone as neutral as he dared, Treville offered, "There had been a situation last night. Aramis stayed behind in the wooded land not more than an hour's ride southwest of here, pinned under enemy fire. Porthos, Athos, and D'Artagnan left last night in search of Aramis, and none of them have returned yet."

Treville saw Anne shift slightly in her chair, and her smile dropped just a fraction, but there was something concerning in her blue irises. She quickly recovered and set her royal mask back in place, but there was no mistaking that even she had developed a fondness for the same men that he had. It was not unexpected, considering how loyally they protected her on many occasions, and Treville knew that he had an ally in the queen just from the way his musketeers cared for her safety. However, with Rochefort slithering around the palace at any given moment, Treville knew that he had to keep such knowledge of Queen Anne's loyalty for his men to himself so that the snake would not exploit it.

Louis offered a concerned expression for the news of the musketeers, but it was fleeting, as his eyes shifted to the box in Treville's hands.

"I'm sure they'll be fine, Treville. They are quite the resilient ensemble, and have found many ways to cheat death," the king quickly said, waving the captain's concern aside. His eyes fell to the package, his attention obviously more interested in what was in the box. "Let's see what the good, old baron has for us."

Treville handed the package over, and Louis set it upon his lap so that he could open the letter first. He kept his expression neutral as to the contents of the reply that he had been awaiting. After a moment, he glanced at his wife and then his musketeer captain. "My correspondence is of no importance to either of you. I had merely grown curious and wistful for memories of my father, and Baron Clamort had adequately accommodated those curiosities."

He read a little more of the letter and then after a brief heartbeat, Louis' demeanor changed considerably, and he smiled brightly. "How bittersweet. Baron Clamort does not believe he'll live past the next season and would like to present to our son the gifts in the box that he has sent. Oh, I can't imagine what he has for Louis! That is so delightful of him to prepare gifts in the twilight of his years."

Setting the parchment aside and concentrating his efforts on the box, Louis opened it, and his face lit up into the one that Treville remembered when the king, himself, was a child. Lifting the soft blanket from the box, Louis held it up and took notice to the silken threads of pale gray with yellow embroidery of the sun and its rays streaming from a corner of the blanket. It was a homage to the unofficial title of "Sun King" that his son had earned.

"Oh, how thoughtful!" Louis smiled.

Then, the king looked down into the box and lifted something else. It was a book bound in deep brown leather, and he set the blanket messily into the box again to see what the book contained. He opened the unmarked cover and read out loud a page from inside. " _The Exploits of the King's Personal Guards_."

King Louis seemed puzzled for a moment, and then he flipped through a few more pages. "Oh, I understand now! Baron Clamort wrote adventure stories about the men who served under my father's command. I recognize some of these names, and I remember meeting these men when I was very young. I shall have many hours enjoying these tales and sharing them with my son."

For a brief moment, Anne saw the Louis she remembered as a friend when she first came to France, and with hope that he would look upon her with such favor once more, she gave a bright smile to her husband. It was these small moments where his joy was genuine that she had missed so much over the years, and while any love for Louis had always remained something she had been unable to feel, she still treasured the friendship they once shared. Watching him dote over even more gifts for the child that Louis continued to believe was his, Anne prayed he would one day become once again the friend she had married so long ago.

Shifting her eyes to Treville, she noted that he had his attentions on her, and while Louis was distracted, she silently asked the musketeer captain whether he was doing well and if his musketeers would be safe. She dared not let him know her true reasons for her questions, but where she would consider Aramis the one man she loved above all others, the musketeers were equally important in her life. They never looked upon her with scorn, and she treasured the kindness they had always given to her.

Treville bowed formally, his eyes maintaining their gaze on Anne letting her see the brief moment of worry that he had for his men on his face. It was not their first guarded conversation, and he decided to make his departure before Louis would grow tired of the book in his lap and catch the queen sharing his worries.

"Majesties," Treville said confidently, "Please forgive me, as I must now return to the garrison and await news of my men."

"Thank you, Captain Treville," Anne replied softly, receiving her answers and allowing Treville to dismiss himself. She watched him leave the throne room and took a worried breath, feeling her fingers pressing tightly to the arms of the throne. Releasing her hands from the chair, she folded them in her lap before shifting her attention to her husband.

Offering the king her masked smile, Anne made a proposal that she was certain he would not decline. "Louis, perhaps you should give Baron Clamort's blanket to your son and read him one of the tales."

Standing up and looking at the few remaining members of court, Louis waved at hand at them, practically scattering them in multiple directions all at once. "Leave us. I wish to be with my son for the remainder of the morning."

Standing from her throne, Anne watched Louis go down the hallways in one direction, while she took a different path as she hurried back to her apartments, dismissing her entourage of ladies-in-waiting and her maids. Her thoughts were clouded and concerned, and it was the last thing Louis needed to see while he was enthralled with joy over the gifts for the dauphin. She regretted not having Constance with her at this moment, as her most trusted advisor had taken it upon herself to handle an errand for the morning. Constance had promised she would return in the afternoon, and Anne would just have to maintain patience until then.

Settling herself upon the small seat in her apartments that overlooked the gardens in the courtyard, Anne replayed Treville's words carefully in her mind, listening to them to ensure that she had not heard them wrong. But, no matter how many times she heard his voice from that moment, she could not change what he had said.

 _Porthos, Athos, and D'Artagnan left last night in search of Aramis, and none of them have returned yet._

Clutching her hand to her stomach, she closed her eyes knowing that she could never reveal the emotions she continued to hold for Aramis. She always feared one day that her fantasies of being with him would be for nothing because certainly his duty as a musketeer was continually riddled with dangers and peril. Still, he had somehow always returned, even that time when he was presumed dead after being thrown out a window at the fortress belonging to the mad astronomer, Marmion. If the dauphin's governess, Marguerite, had not been present that day in the room when Aramis found her and their son being held captive, she would have embraced him with all the love she had in her heart for him.

Anne realized it was one thing to embrace the memories she shared with Aramis in her daydreams, as there was no boundary of propriety in her imagination. Being with him in reality, though, was near impossible, and she had no choice but to endure the distance between them. However, it was those moments when they silently stared at each other and held muted conversations that continued to give her strength. She wasn't certain she could endure it if she did not have those fleeting moments ever again. Her memories would only hold her for so long, but it was the look in his eyes when they stared at each other that kept the memories alive and refreshed. If she no longer had that seemingly insignificant and intimate affection from him, her memories would shrivel and die, and her heart along with them.

Opening her eyes, Anne could not forget the boldness she had presented in that moment when she drew close to Aramis at the convent where they had sought sanctuary from the assassins that had been chasing them. She felt her breathing grow tight, and her fingers tremble – even to this day – at the memory of closing that precious space between them.

She had no idea what to expect as she leaned forward to touch Aramis' lips with her own, but the overwhelming emotion that struck her had changed everything she had ever known about men. Where Louis was methodical and seemingly detached in his intimacies, Aramis had fully engaged himself into her and the moment. His hands had touched her carefully, gently, and she ached for his closeness. She had kissed that common man in a way that she had never been able to with own royal husband, and Aramis had returned her passion equally.

Anne remembered having so many curiosities about the marks on his body – the scars that were permanent evidence of his injuries from conflicts in his past – but he refrained from telling her about them. He did, however, allow her to touch them in her own way, and she imagined herself healing them in a manner she was certain his other lovers never had. She wanted him to know that she appreciated his sacrifices, and with every caress and kiss they shared, she gave more of herself to him.

Taking a deep breath to calm the worry that had arisen again within her for Aramis' safety, Anne brought her eyes to look at nothing outside her window. She tried to imagine him gallantly riding across the landscape and returning to his duties. She needed his dark eyes to catch hers and hold her in that stare of his – the one that told her everything she needed to hear without ever saying a single word.

Unable to stop that ache in her that she felt for Aramis' unknown fate, Anne closed her eyes again and silently recited the prayers in her mind that she had been taught from childhood. She mentally sent her words to God and the saints to protect Aramis and to keep him safe until his friends – his musketeer brothers – could find him. It was the least she could do for him when propriety had been certain to ensure that they were never given another moment together again.


	6. Chapter 6-A Bittersweet Reunion

_Author's Notes_ : Thank you, once again, everyone for your continued interest and the positive reviews! I honestly thought this chapter was done a couple weeks ago, but I found myself constantly tweaking it and giving it more life with every brush of polish I used. I'm very pleased with the final result, and I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

 **Chapter 6 – A Bittersweet Reunion**

 _Aramis ran his fingers lightly over Anne's shoulder, aware of the softness of her skin, and he hoped that the roughness of his hands had not left any marks on her, especially during their most passionate moments. Feeling her shift beside him, he trusted he had not disturbed her with his gentle touch, but as she moved he saw that she was adjusting her head near his shoulder. With that kind smile of hers, she was looking into his eyes as her perfectly soft and unlabored fingers continued to trace his chest. He could still smell the fragrant oils that had been smoothed over her skin in the hours before their race from the assassins began. He inhaled the scent of roses and cinnamon that carried a trace of vanilla, and in this moment those scents blended into the most wonderful fragrance he could ever imagine. He closed his eyes in the exhaustion they both felt after their intimacies, and he forced himself to hold onto this memory of holding her. This precious moment was so much more significant to him than the physical nature of what they had done in their time together. It was this moment of contentment that he craved, the satisfaction of their shared compassion and the tranquility that they had something that belonged to no one but themselves._

 _He sensed Anne once again shift beside him, and he opened his eyes, aware of her leaning towards him, her fingers grazing along his cheek, and her quiet smile showed him the side of her that was nothing less than a kind and loving woman. Unable to resist, he once again closed his eyes as he felt her lips against his, and cupping her face with his hand, he didn't stop the rush of excitement that was in the kiss they shared. Her touch was the most perfect thing he could imagine, and as that final kiss came to its gentle conclusion, sleep had finally overwhelmed both of them and took them to the exhaustion that blocked out the dangers below the convent._

" _Aramis? Aramis…you promised._ "

" _Let him be, child._ "

" _But, he promised…_ "

Aramis blinked his eyes, looking up at the unfamiliar ceiling and the unfamiliar voices, pushing the memory of Anne and that night at the convent back to the place in his heart where he kept it safe. They had made the mistake of breaking the promise they had made when they were in Emilie's camp, daring a kiss despite the danger of being caught. Even though Aramis knew that keeping their distance was the safest thing they could do, he continually ached for just one more uninterrupted moment alone with Anne.

Aramis shifted finally, aware that at some point during the night, he had used his coat as a blanket, and as he groggily sat up, he pushed the leather off to the side of the bench. He rubbed his eyes, feeling his senses awakening while his memories of the events from the day before returned. He recognized the sounds of Helene's and Jacqueline's voices and felt his stomach grumble at whatever hunger-inducing temptation Jacqueline was cooking on her small stove. He wondered just how long he had slept and how much of the morning had been spent while he was having dreams of his memories with Anne. When he cleared his eyes from his hands, he saw Helene standing in front of the bench he had slept upon, minding her distance near his weapons.

"Yes, I promised you that we'd get Marie back today, but a man requires a few moments to awaken," Aramis told her as he pushed his hand once more over his face, remembering now where he was and that he had given his word to Helene about her doll.

He mentally scolded himself for being a lousy protector, wasting his morning in dreams and not remaining in a light sleep where he could listen for incoming danger. Sighing again, Aramis came to the realization that he was far more tired – emotionally and physically – than he thought, especially since he had slept through the sounds of an old woman and a young child moving about the small house in the morning without him noticing.

"I'm afraid I do not have a spare chamber pot," Jacqueline apologized from across the room, "But, morning meal will be ready by the time you return from your walk. If you would like to wash, there is a basin outside with fresh water and a towel."

Aramis nodded his thanks and moved towards the door of the small house. The scent of fresh bread and eggs filled his nostrils, and he glanced to see Helene taking her place on the stool near the table, just as she had the night before. She was wearing a change of clothes, as the bloodied and ruined dress from yesterday's ordeals was long gone. She still wore a tan and off-white dress that was nearly identical to the one she had worn yesterday, and Aramis had surmised that it was Jacqueline who was raising the child in more ways than just food and a bed. Helene was also clean now, her light skin looking refreshed, and her hair was brushed with the top section of it tied back from her face in a thin scrap of tan cloth that matched her dress.

Closing the door to Jacqueline's home behind him, Aramis could now see in the daylight the details in this small community that were hidden the night before. There was a fenced-in area where livestock was separated by the types of animals they were, and nearly every home had a garden that was teeming with plants bearing vegetables as well as vines growing berries on them. A row of trees on the far end of the community held bright, red fruit, and squinting in the morning sun, Aramis recognized the fruit as apples growing on the trees.

Many of the people in the small village had already emerged from their homes, most of them just picking free the ripe fruits and vegetables from their plants. A few of them looked at him either with confusion or suspicion, or a little of both, as none of them recognized this groggy newcomer to their village. Others didn't pay him any mind and just went about their morning routines, tasking themselves with the chores of the day that they needed to do.

Aramis had made his way towards a few trees concealed by thick ferns and had handled his morning needs in the privacy that was offered. When he was done, he returned to the side of Jacqueline's house and removed his tunic, dunking his head in the basin she had left behind a line of drying clothes. He used the cool water to awaken his senses, and wash away the grit and dirt of the day before. Bringing his face up, he took the towel and ran it over his skin, drying his head, shoulders, and arms before he would develop a chill in the early morning crispness. Grasping his tunic, he gave it a shake, realizing that he had forgotten all about the possibility of a spider crawling in his clothes, and as he set the tunic back over his head, he mentally scolded himself for bringing up the memory of the arachnid again.

Running his fingers through his damp hair, Aramis decided to head back inside the small house, and as he entered, he saw that Jacqueline had upheld her promise, as there was fresh bread on the table with eggs in individual bowls for each of them. She even had taken a small platter and arranged it with berries and apples for all of them to share.

"How does your shoulder feel, Helene?" Aramis asked as he sat at the table with the others, feeling refreshed and awake finally.

"You made it feel better," the girl replied around a small mouthful of bread.

Jacqueline swallowed her forkful of eggs with the refinement expected of her age. "I looked at the wound before she got dressed, and it seems healthy so far."

"That's what I was hoping," Aramis replied to Jacqueline. Then, he looked at Helene for a brief moment as he chewed on a mouthful of bread, followed by a slice of apple that he had cut. "Now, we'll need to think of some way to get Marie out of that tree."

"If it helps, I have some rope," Jacqueline offered. "I'm not quite sure how you would use it, but the two of you are clever enough, so I'm sure you'll find a way."

"Maybe we can use the rope to climb the tree," Helene smiled.

"That might be possible, depending if we can get the rope high enough on a sturdy branch," Aramis replied, around a forkful of eggs, considering what they could use as a counterweight to get the rope to swing high above them since there were not enough low branches to climb within.

His thoughts, however, shifted elsewhere while he worked on the remainder of his meal, as he knew that he still needed to let his brothers know that he was safe. Then, there was the task of finding out who had been abducted and what was stolen from the carriage the day before. Aramis was aware that he would have to somehow coax Helene into guiding him to the location of the crime, and then he had to be certain that her memories of the attack would provide him with all the details she could possibly remember in order to investigate the woman's abduction appropriately.

While lost in his thoughts as the others were enjoying their breakfast, a small explosion suddenly echoed through this private community, followed by a woman's scream and people running. Moving on instinct and not conscious thought, Aramis grabbed Helene and landed on the floor with her. He looked up and saw Jacqueline sitting almost in shock. He stood quickly and helped the old woman onto the floor as swiftly as he could without hurting her aged body.

"Are you all right?" he asked, watching Jacqueline wrap her arms around Helene. She nodded worriedly, but held the child tightly.

"Stay low, both of you," Aramis ordered as he moved in a crouch across the house, getting within reach of his weapons.

He grasped his weapons belts, remembering that his musket was still loaded from the night before. "Jacqueline, do you have a back door?"

"Yes, it's in my room," the old woman replied.

A man's voice shouted from outside the house. "Send out the girl with the musketeer, and the rest of you will live your meager lives peacefully. Choose to harbor them, and your community's population will dwindle significantly."

Aramis glanced at Jacqueline and Helene, motioning for them to stay still and to make no sounds as they remained under the table while he moved towards the front of the house.

Holding the musket in a ready position, he peered his head out one of the few windows in Jacqueline's house and saw four men scattered throughout the small village dressed in bland clothing that was similar to what the attackers wore yesterday. He had no idea how many more of these men he couldn't see, and he could only hope that these four were the last of them. Three of the men had muskets trained on some of the people and another was moving about the houses, starting to search each residence. His eyes caught sight of Helene's step-father standing near the well at the center of town. He was swaggering as though he had not finished his drinking from the night before.

"Talk to Old Jacqueline!" Gerard shouted, pointing to the house where Aramis and the others were hiding. "She and that musketeer practically adopted the little scamp right out from under me!"

Aramis felt his anger rising at how this man had betrayed the child entrusted in his care, but that anger immediately drained out of him when another musket shot exploded in Gerard's chest, and he landed on his back in silence.

"Your turn, musketeer. Stop cowering behind these people and bring the girl!" the man shouted, turning his gaze now to Jacqueline's house.

Aramis took a quick look behind him to see that Jacqueline and Helene had stayed where he had instructed them. Helene was covering her ears against the sound of the musket fire that had gone off earlier, and her eyes were rimmed with frightened tears. He took a deep breath, knowing that he could not give her up, and he would sacrifice himself by taking out as many of these men as he could before they would end his life.

"Be careful with what are you thinking, Aramis," Jacqueline warned, seeming to know what he was planning, even as he was working out the details himself.

Aramis offered them both a sad smile, aware of the old woman studying him like a book he never knew someone could so easily read, and he saw her old eyes forgiving him when he didn't have the courage to do so himself.

However, he offered his kind but stern words to the child instead. "Remember, you're brave and clever, Helene. When I tell you to go, you get out that door behind you, and you run. Don't look back. Just go."

"No!" Helene begged, "You need to come with me! You promised to keep me safe."

"I am keeping you safe by attending to my duty," Aramis explained softly as he turned away from Helene's sad eyes and the tears that were starting on her face.

Lifting Anne's cross from his chest, he kissed it, as it was the only way he could say goodbye to the woman and the son he loved. He would have given nearly anything to spend one more minute with them, but his life had been fated in another direction, and he would make as brave a stand as he could. He only hoped that Anne's cross would continue to bring him the luck he needed so that he would survive long enough to allow Helene the chance to escape.

Dropping the cross, Aramis reached for the handle on the door, and with a heavy breath, he pulled on the latch. "Helene…"

"Stand down and state your business!" a clear but monotone-sounding voice carried in the air, along with the thunder of horse hoofs, and Aramis felt a relieved smile spread across his face as he recognized exactly which of his brothers spoke like that.

However, the overwhelming noise of indistinguishable shouting and muskets firing from multiple directions drowned out any other conversation.

Fearing that his musketeer brothers had been caught in a deadly ambush, Aramis opened the door and prepared to set his musket on the place where the first raider had initially been in his line of sight earlier. To his surprise, he saw the four raiders sprawled on the ground in various states of death, and his brothers bringing their horses to a stop in the center of the village. Realizing that the danger had passed, Aramis holstered his musket and stepped out of the house.

Porthos was the first one to reach him, dismounting from his horse in one smooth maneuver, and he took Aramis in a huge embrace, grateful that his brother had survived the night. "You're a worthless excuse for a friend, and if you do something like this again, I'll shoot you myself."

Aramis hugged his brother warmly, believing every word he threatened. "At least offer me the courtesy of a blindfold before you do."

Porthos freed Aramis, and then it was Athos who embraced him next, his strength and concern nothing less than the older brother he had always been. While his words sounded purely like criticism, Athos' voice carried an underlying wealth of warmth and relief. "Your sloppy trail in the woods could have gotten you killed."

"I didn't exactly have a map to leave you," Aramis smiled, "And, to my credit, it was dark."

Athos stepped back, his eyes sparkling in relief, and then D'Artagnan gave his friend a relieved embrace. "Good thing we got here when we did."

Aramis returned the hug, his words playful. "A minute or two earlier would have been better, if you really wanted to save me the scare."

With the reunion done and the four of them now turning their attention to the business before them, Aramis looked to his three brothers, telling them what he knew. "This was no simple raid on these people. Whoever these bandits were, they made specific demands to surrender Helene and me. Before I could intercede, they shot a man to try and force Helene and me to reveal ourselves."

"We examined the villager by the well," D'Artagnan clarified, "The shot was fatal, I'm afraid, and he didn't survive."

Aramis pushed his fingers through his hair and took a concerned breath, now that his suspicions from earlier had confirmed the mortal way the musket ball struck Gerard. "That villager was Helene's step-father."

"I'm sorry," Athos offered solemnly. However, he also knew that they had business to conduct, and letting his brother know what Porthos had briefed them about, he explained, "Porthos told us the girl was injured and you were protecting her."

Aramis looked around his brothers, aware of the people in the village starting to stare at them in curiosity, as though deciding what they should do with these musketeers.

"Let's talk inside," Aramis said, as he raised his arm guiding them into Jacqueline's small home.

Athos closed the door behind him, and then he caught sight of a little girl with blonde hair and an old woman who could have passed for someone's grandmother huddled on the floor beneath the table.

Aramis quickly moved to the old woman and gently helped her stand, as Helene pushed herself free from the confines of the table.

"Porthos!" Helene smiled and ran to hug him. "Aramis told me a story where you're a knight!"

"He did that, now, did he?" Porthos asked with a warm smile while his large arms picked up the little girl and he let her give him a hug as he shot his friend a look of gratitude, slightly surprised.

Both D'Artagnan and Athos looked at each other, sharing an amused smile between them, but it was D'Artagnan who whispered to Athos, "If I find out he made me a jester, I'm not going to like him any longer."

Aramis gave a quick smile towards D'Artagnan before he brought his eyes back to Porthos, watching him return the girl to the floor. Then, he turned his attention towards Helene and Jacqueline, a hand gesturing to each of the men in turn. "These are my fellow musketeers, Athos and D'Artagnan."

"Sir Athos and his squire," Helene smiled, pulling from Porthos and looking between the other two musketeers.

"I take it back," D'Artagnan smirked in his playful way. "I like him even less now."

Aware of his brothers' inquisitive and teasing stares, Aramis knew he would have time later to explain the story he narrated to entertain a frightened and injured child. Shifting the conversation to the old woman, he addressed Jacqueline. "I'm sorry about taking over your home, but we needed someplace away from prying eyes to talk."

Jacqueline looked amongst the four men and then at Helene, brushing her bony fingers over the girl's hair before returning her eyes to the musketeers. "I'm afraid I don't have enough seats for you all, but you are welcome here."

Aramis saw the relief in Jacqueline's eyes that the attack on their little village had been averted, but his concern was now drawn to Helene. He moved towards her and lowered himself to the floor, kneeling so that he could talk to her on her level, and not as an adult in authority.

"Helene, something happened while the men outside were firing their muskets," Aramis started carefully, taking her tiny hands in his. "They killed someone."

Helene's large eyes cycled through Aramis' words, and she looked at him puzzled about what he meant.

Aramis braced himself and took a breath to prepare for the child's grief. "I'm so sorry, but your Papa Gerard was killed."

Her blue eyes blinked in silence for a long moment, seeming to decide whether it was worth it to cry. Then, she looked to Jacqueline, watching the old woman gasp as she covered her mouth with her hand. Bringing her eyes amongst the other men in the room, Helene finally settled them again on Aramis.

"He can't yell at me anymore?" she asked softly, hesitantly, as her eyes searched his face for an answer.

Shaking his head, Aramis wasn't quite sure what to tell the girl, but as comprehension started settling in, she began blinking at tears. She shook her head in denial, her voice confused and broken. "Who will yell at me?"

Aramis took Helene and pulled her into his arms, letting her cry into his shoulder as she mumbled her incoherent cries. "Papa needs to yell at me! Papa needs me so he can yell! I need Papa to yell at me."

Jacqueline put her hand upon the sobbing child's head, and she stroked her hair. She looked to the other three musketeers standing in her home with desolate looks on their faces. "Helene's step-father has verbally abused her since her mother's passing when she was around four-years-old. From the moment of her mother's death, there has been no love in her home, just burdens and a lack of compassion."

Athos folded his arms across his chest and quickly turned his head from the scene before him of Aramis holding Helene, fearing the disaster this will now cause for his brother. D'Artagnan felt his eyes soften, and he looked at the small child clinging to Aramis as though his friend could somehow save her from her despair. Porthos took a deep breath and lowered his eyes, hiding that he would have gladly taught Helene's step-father respect if he wasn't already dead.

"No, Helene," Aramis told her sternly but gently as he pulled her back to look at him. He brushed one of her tears off her cheek, watching her take small gasps to settle herself. "Your papa had no kindness for you, and you are now free from his cruelty."

Helene stared at him and breathed for a long moment, seeming to process what he said. Finally with hopeful eyes, she asked, "Can you…can you be my papa, Aramis? You don't yell at me."

Aramis swallowed hard and felt his heart shatter in his chest, as he was overwhelmed with so much. He still wanted the impossible life with Anne and his son, and he knew that Helene would never fit in there. He was a musketeer above all, and he could not risk raising a child alone when his own life was always uncertain.

So much of the conversation he had with Jacqueline last night clearly echoed in Aramis' head, and just as she had told him then, the daylight did bring clarity. While his heart continued to break for this unloved child, Aramis knew the answer he had to give her question, despite how much it tore him apart.

Softly, he told Helene, "That is a promise I wish I could make, but I cannot."

Unexpectedly, Helene pulled herself from Aramis in a motion that was reminiscent of someone who had been slapped across the face and betrayed. Instead of crying against his shoulder, Helene turned to the old woman who had been her faithful friend and clutched to her dress sobbing. Jacqueline looked at Aramis with an expression that told him she understood his pain and that she had warned him about this in their quiet moments last night.

Gently pulling Helene with her, Jacqueline led her into the curtained room where Aramis had tucked the child in just the night before. Jacqueline's soft voice echoed through the small house, doing her best to calm Helene's sadness. "Come with me child, and let the men sort things amongst themselves."

"Aramis!" Athos still had his arms crossed over his chest, his whisper stern. He realized that he had barely waited for Jacqueline and Helene to be out of earshot, but what he had to say could not be delayed.

Aramis took a moment to gather his emotions before he stood. His eyes did not immediately turn away from the empty place on the floor where Helene and Jacqueline had been. As he got his feet beneath him, Aramis finally turned and brought his eyes to his friends, settling them on Athos last.

Athos felt as much as he saw the pain on his brother's face, and he unfolded his arms to gently place a hand on Aramis' shoulder. With quiet approval he told Aramis, "There is nothing more you can do. You did the right thing."

Pulling his shoulder out from Athos' hand, Aramis bit down on his anger, keeping his voice soft so he would not upset Helene further. "I refuse to believe that because it doesn't feel like the right thing."

Then, he pushed his way out of the house wishing more than ever that he could have Anne beside him. He needed her wisdom and her kindness, and he wanted to hold his son, to let him know that he would never be as cruel to him as Gerard had been to Helene.

He walked aimlessly into the center of the village, and when he finally stopped, he found himself looking down to the dead man on the ground that had been Helene's legal guardian – but never her father. Aramis thought about kicking the man's liquor-filled carcass until Gerard's bones were pulverized in his rotting skin. Then, movement caught his eyes, and he recognized Madeleine in a well-made and adorned, dark blue dress as though she was on her way to meet someone she wanted to impress when the men attacked.

Pushing her sleeve beneath her cheek to wipe away a lone tear, she folded her arms over herself and looked at the unmoving, dead body of her father.

Without prompting, she started talking to Aramis, her words sounding more like a confession to the musketeer than a remembrance to her father. "Papa somehow found out that I had been seeing a man named Stefane in another town over. Stefane and I had planned to get married, and I was going to live with him. Then, Papa started slandering me, calling me a whore so that he could avoid paying the dowry that Stefane's father requested. Stefane was no longer allowed to see me, and my own father tarnished my reputation in both this village and in Stefane's town."

Choking down a sob, Madeleine pressed her hands to her face to force the tears from flowing. When she was composed again, she quietly continued in whatever explanation she felt she needed in order to clear her conscience. "My mother died just before Papa married Francoise – Helene's mother – and Francoise's involvement in our lives had given us a good life for a short while. Then, after Francoise passed away, all Papa did was drink. I blamed Helene – actually hated her – because Papa only wanted Francoise. Then, he got stuck with Francoise's daughter instead, and I knew he never wanted the responsibility of another child, especially not another girl."

Dropping her shoulders, Madeleine continued, "Francoise's death changed my father. He found a mean side to his soul, and he embraced it when he no longer had the woman he desired. Seeing him dead now, I can finally free myself from the burdens of his regrets and go somewhere that will allow me to start over."

Aramis trailed his eyes from Madeleine to the dead Gerard and then towards the house where Helene had her entire life taken out from beneath her.

"Will you take Helene with you now?" Madeleine asked. "She doesn't talk to too many people here – mostly just Old Jacqueline, but I could see when Helene brought you into our home last night that she had taken to you in a way she does very few people."

Aramis looked around and saw that many of the people in the town were watching him and Madeleine – probably trying to determine if her father's words about her whoring were true. His hands fell against his hips and he looked to the empty ground before catching Madeleine's eyes, not giving these villagers a chance to tarnish this poor young woman's reputation any further.

Knowing that he could not take Helene, despite how his heart ached to give her a better life, Aramis pleaded, "There has to be someone here who would take her after Jacqueline passes."

"Look around," Madeleine said. "We may live together in this fabricated community, but we are as separate as we can be. Papa distanced everyone from us when he picked up the bottle. I plan to take whatever is useful from my house when I leave. Helene only ever had that doll of hers. If you really care for her, you need to take her from here and give her some place she can start over, too."

Aramis looked up to the people and watched as they all filed back to their homes, their excitement done and their lives returning to the small squares upon which they lived. Not one word of condolence was offered to Madeleine, despite the long stares she had received. Their curiosity satiated, the people had decided to ignore the musketeers that had entered their village, and as long as there was no more trouble following them, they could return to their simple lives.

Madeleine had disappeared in the crowd, and Aramis crouched beside Gerard's body, aware that the dead man's eyelids had already been closed, most likely by one his brothers who had no idea of the brute that this man had become. He was certain that none of these villagers would have bothered, and that would have been fine with him.

Aramis kept his voice quiet, despite the rage that was inside him, and with an emotion that he could not control, his words were a condemnation to the dead man on the ground for treating the children in his care the way he had. "May God suitably judge your soul, you drunken bastard."


	7. Chapter 7-Aramis' Woeful Tale

_Author's Notes_ : As always, thank you so much for the continued interest! I had a rough week, dealing with the passing of my grandmother, and I could not finely tune the chapter as I would normally prefer. With that said, I can only hope this chapter is received with the same encouragement as the previous ones.

 **Chapter 7 – Aramis' Woeful Tale**

No one had kept track of how long Aramis was gone from Jacqueline's home, but none of the musketeers felt it was necessary to look for him either. They knew a grieving man needed his space, and right now Aramis was a wound none of them wanted to further damage. In his absence, they had discussed their casual observations of the village and of the people within it. They had the sense that this place was not accustomed to outside visitors, and they had all agreed that it was best to not linger any longer than necessary. Their time here had upset these people's lives enough, and the last thing any of the villagers needed was another invasion from the people hunting Aramis and Helene.

Hearing the door to the old woman's home opening, the brotherly musketeers looked up from their quiet contemplation of how to proceed next. At some point in their discussions, they had realized that none of them even knew why the men who attacked the village had made prey out of the child that Aramis was protecting, and they had chosen to investigate the attacks to keep their brother and Helene safe.

When Aramis finally entered Jacqueline's home some time later, he caught his brothers staring at him as he closed the door behind him. He noticed that they had each had found places to rest as Porthos took to the bench that Aramis had used the night before for sleeping. Athos and D'Artagnan sat on the chairs at the table, and Helene and Jacqueline remained in the curtained room. He did not hear the little girl crying anymore, but instead he only heard Jacqueline's soothing voice reminding Helene of the good child that she was and that she would always be welcome to stay with her.

Aware of Athos staring at him in a silent conversation, his concern clearly showing, Aramis offered no emotion in his voice and decided to just state simple facts. "The men who raided this community were looking for Helene because she witnessed them abducting a noblewoman and stealing a chest of some kind in her possession. Helene said that the men killed this noblewoman's entourage. I spent my time in Helene's company earning her trust and protecting her to ensure that those men who initially attacked us would not harm her before she could tell us what she saw."

D'Artagnan ran his fingers through his hair and leaned forward on his seat, his words layered with confusion and sadness. "She's just a child. What could have been so important that these men would want to hurt her?"

"They don't want witnesses," Athos surmised, as he looked around his brothers. "The men you killed last night did not have anything distinguishing on them, but maybe these men that we had killed do have something of interest. If we're lucky, our investigations will provide us with something they were carrying that would help us discover the identity of these men and who they had abducted."

D'Artagnan and Athos stood to leave, but hesitated as Athos caught that Porthos had stood but made no motion to join them. Concerned about how this little girl had affected his brothers, Athos paused and prepared to speak when Porthos briefly caught his eyes, warning him not to say anything.

Turning away from Athos again, Porthos looked to Aramis, aware of the emotional pain that seared through his brother at the thought of abandoning Helene. However, he kept his words aimed at Athos. "Go. I will join you in a little while."

Athos took a calming breath and lowered his voice into a soft whisper. "Don't get any ideas."

Without missing a beat, Porthos shot Athos a look and quickly responded, "You mean the ones I've already had for the last ten minutes?"

Athos gave a hardened look to his brother, but Porthos quietly explained, "She's a scared little girl, Athos. She needs someone – maybe us – maybe someone else – but right now we are who she's got."

"Just be careful," Athos warned, keeping his voice low. Then, he took a breath to release the frustration over the thought that he had been defeated by a little girl as he stepped out of Jacqueline's house with D'Artagnan following.

Porthos took only a couple steps to cross the floor, his large gait closing the gap quickly, and without warning he grabbed Aramis in an unexpected, but much-needed hug, feeling his brother accept his concerns. "You mean well, Aramis. You always do."

Aramis took comfort in his brother, grateful that he understood the emotional devastation that he was going through, even if Porthos didn't understand the many layers to it that had consumed him. After a moment, he felt Porthos release his grasp and stand back.

Running his fingers through his dark hair, Aramis raised his arms in defeat. "Even you know that meaning well doesn't fix it or else you would have walked out with Athos and D'Artagnan, expecting everything to settle perfectly back into place without doing anything."

"True, but I know you," Porthos said, settling his hand on his brother's shoulder. "You'll poke at this until you make it right for Helene. You're meant to be a father, more than any of us, I think."

Aramis swallowed hard and forced his eyes to not give away the secret he hid from his greatest friend. All he wanted for so long was to tell Porthos that he was a father and that in those few, precious moments he had with his son that he was more at peace in his life than he ever had been at any other time. Aramis wanted to share with his friend the emotional joy of having someone he hoped to teach all he knew, but there was no way he could ever admit that his son was produced out of a love that was treasonous and risked so many lives. The less people who knew about his night with Anne, the more chance his son had at a good and pampered life, becoming educated and raised in ways that Aramis, himself, had never known and would never know. His son would have chances that a mere musketeer would never be afforded, and the thought of his child exceeding everything he had ever done filled him with a pride that he could never share with anyone else – not even his closest and most loyal friend.

"I promised Helene that we would get Marie from the tree where we first met her," Aramis said instead of everything else that was in his heart.

"I think I can help with that," Porthos offered softly, as he reached into his doublet and fished out a small doll.

Aramis studied it with a blank stare for a long moment, noticing that it was no larger than the pair of hands that Porthos held it within. While there was no face on the head, it did have blonde yarn for hair and a violet dress that was made from scraps of expensive materials. He considered what Helene had told him about her mother making it for her and what Jacqueline had said about Helene's mother being from a well-to-do family who gave up that life to be with the man she loved. He was certain that Helene's mother had made the doll from scraps of her old life, using specific objects and materials so that Helene truly would have a piece of her mother and her past with her.

Porthos saw the gratitude on his friend's face, and he chuckled. "D'Artagnan climbs trees rather well, said he used to waste his summers away in a tree on his father's farm."

Aramis was so consumed with appreciation and grief that he didn't even react to Porthos' light-hearted pride for D'Artagnan. Instead, he took the offered doll from his friend and brushed a few of the yarn strands back into place, much as he had done with Helene the night before as he pulled the girl's hair from her face.

He felt tightness in his throat, marking his words in a thickness that he knew was his overwhelming emotions seeking to burst free. "She deserves better."

Porthos felt that all-too familiar pain in his chest at seeing his brother broken over the things his heart guided him to fix, despite the logical sense it made to stay uninvolved.

Feeling his own heaviness in his words, Porthos' voice was certain in what he said, despite the logical part of him that knew he was offering a promise that would be difficult to keep. "We'll find these men who tried to kill Helene, and then we'll find her a good home so she can grow up with someone who cares about her properly."

Aramis' next actions were swift, but every movement meaningful, as he pulled Porthos into an embrace and took comfort in the friend he always had. He felt Marie in his left hand, his fingers clutching to her, much as he imagined Helene did when she needed the comfort.

"Thank you," Aramis breathed quietly, wishing again he could tell his most trusted brother of the son he could never raise as he wished.

Porthos held his brother, sensing there was something more, but he refrained himself from asking, as he knew Aramis would tell him everything in due time when he was ready. Their priority now was to a little girl who was hurting and needed a friend. Helene needed her trust restored so that they could solve the mystery of who these assailants were that had been so insistent on trying to kill a child.

Breaking out of the hug, Porthos gave Aramis a pat on his shoulder. Winking, he smiled, "Go talk to Helene. Promise her what you can do, not what you can't."

Aramis watched Porthos turn away and then close the door behind him as he left.

A long moment later, Aramis turned around to find Helene, but instead found that Jacqueline was standing in the room, her old eyes looking upon him with a kindness he didn't feel he deserved.

"Your friend is wise," the old woman stated, "You are lucky to have him."

"He doesn't know about what you already have surmised," Aramis said softly, feeling the need to confess the betrayal of not entrusting his dearest friend with the knowledge of his son and Anne's affections. "And, I cannot tell even him because if I do…"

Touching a bony hand to his cheek, Jacqueline smiled kindly, her words interrupting him. "Don't allow your heart to be so burdened, Aramis. He will never beseech you for your secrets, and he would take his place beside you, no matter the penalty." Taking her hand away, the old woman smiled kindly, "Now, I believe you and Helene need to amend your relationship. She could use her friend more than she could an old woman who takes in strays."

"Thank you," Aramis said, allowing her to see the sincerity in his eyes.

"She'll be happy to have Marie back," Jacqueline smiled, her eyes glancing at the doll in Aramis' hands. "Now, go on into the other room. Helene needs you."

Aramis felt himself release a small and relieved smile in spite of himself, and felt less burdened knowing that Porthos would help him find a safe place for Helene and that Jacqueline would keep what little she knew of his secrets safe.

He stepped through the curtained doorframe and found Helene sitting on the bed with the sunlight shining on a small table next to her. She was looking at the stitching detail of her apron, seeming to be studying a pattern in the material that only she could see.

Kneeling before Helene, Aramis watched her tiny finger as it traced the main stitch work. She passed it over the smooth sections and paused in the areas where the thread had been stitched beneath. Then, she would flip the apron and do the same on the other side.

Feeling the sadness in his voice and for dashing her hopes to stay with him, Aramis could only apologize for the life that neither of them could share. Softly, he offered, "Helene, I'm sorry."

Helene did not make eye contact, but kept her eyes lowered on her task, seeming to ignore him, and he understood her pain for being rejected. Other than Jacqueline, she appeared to have no one in her life that wanted her. But with all his heart, Aramis did want to adopt Helene and give her the loving home she deserved – he just had no means of doing so. He had no wife, no house, and lived on very little earnings. Even his room and board were provided by the musketeer garrison. Taking her into his life was an impossible dream, and even if he had the means to do so, there was no one to take her if he died in the line of duty. The last thing this child needed was to be left with no one…again.

Silently taking a breath, Aramis decided to fix what he could with Helene, and right now that was his friendship with her. Putting Marie on Helene's lap, he quietly told her, "My friends found a way to rescue Marie."

The little girl shifted her fingers from her hem to the doll, her little hands holding Marie around the waist as it laid on her lap. She was gentle and careful in her movements, nearly cradling the doll as though afraid of breaking it. However, her eyes did not shift from the doll, and instead she just kept her irises concentrating on the last link to her deceased family – the last people in her life who truly loved her.

Thinking of some way to engage Helene's attention again, Aramis decided to try something different, rather than just trying to convince her to trust him. He thought about how his story from last night had made her forget her injury and kept her interacting with him. Knowing he had nothing to lose, Aramis started making up another tale, this time keeping it closer to the truth and what was in his heart rather than the lightheartedness of his other story.

"There once was a beautiful and kind woman named…Isabelle." Aramis swallowed hard, thinking of his first love and using her name for the heroine of this tale. Even though he was thinking of Anne instead in this exact moment, using Isabelle not only concealed Anne's identity, but it allowed him to give Isabelle a chance to be remembered kindly in a story meant to mend a little girl's broken heart.

Running his hand through his hair, Aramis took a breath and pressed forward, fabricating his tale with just enough truth in it that he wouldn't need to hide the emotions that came from his words. "Isabelle was the daughter of a very rich merchant. Her parents had arranged her marriage to another merchant named Michel when they were both very young. After they were married, Isabelle and Michel realized that they were not always happy together or in love, but they needed to stay together because it was what their parents had wanted and what the workers of the merchant companies had wanted."

Helene stopped fidgeting her fingers on Marie's dress, but her eyes still stayed low, and Aramis knew that she was listening. He decided to proceed with the story, and as the words continued to come to him, he allowed his emotions to rise to the surface.

"One day Isabelle was out on a journey, as she had wanted to purchase some very special dresses. But, these dresses were in a town far away from her home. In order to keep Isabelle safe, Michel had a protector assigned because, even though he was not in love with Isabelle, he still needed her in his life in order to keep their parents and their merchant companies happy."

Aramis caught that Helene took a steady breath, her eyes blinking with intent as she kept her head downward. He knew that he had Helene's interest in what he was saying, and as he thought of that escape with Anne over a year ago, he realized that he was telling his most trusted secret to a child in the form of a concealed story.

"This protector did his job well and made certain that the journey was without incident. He learned that Isabelle was very kind and wise, and that being in her presence made him appreciate her even more. Isabelle, likewise, saw that her protector took his duties very seriously but had a good heart and wanted to make sure she was safe at all costs. While they had passed each other during their days in town and always had respect for each other, this journey gave them a better understanding of the other…"

"What is the protector's name?" Helene interrupted shyly in a soft voice, as her eyes stayed down on her doll.

Aramis paused for a brief moment, his instincts telling him that he knew what her answer would be, but he forged ahead with the question anyway. "What would you like it to be?"

"It should be Aramis," Helene answered quietly – shyly – her fingers running along the yarn of Marie's hair. "The protector sounds like you."

Nodding silently, Aramis suspected Helene would want him to be the hero, and he accepted her request. "As you wish, Helene."

Aramis took a breath and swallowed hard, realizing that Helene had instinctively caught onto his emotions, and he felt no hesitation as he told Helene more about him through his story. "During Isabelle's journey, a thief had come along wanting Isabelle's money. Aramis, however, would not allow this thief to hurt her or take her things. He fought the thief bravely, and kept Isabelle safe. That evening when they arrived at the chateau where Isabelle would spend the night, she talked to Aramis about the fight he had in the day with the thief, and he told her about his fears and his worries about her safety. She told him that she cared about him and didn't want to see him hurt and that she trusted him very much with her life."

Helene finally brought her eyes up and looked into Aramis' dark irises. He was aware that the girl was now listening with more intensity than she had when he told her the story last night. He suspected it was because they were not running from an attack that could occur at any moment while she was still sore from her injury, and she could put all her concentration into his words.

Thinking of how best to tell a child this particular section of his modified story, Aramis took a moment to decide on what he would say next. When he started again, the words came to him more naturally and much easier than he expected they would.

Speaking freely for the first time in his life about the events at the convent, he continued his tale. "Isabelle and Aramis discovered that after all those days of passing and looking and never being able to talk that they finally had this one night to share everything they ever wanted to say to the other. They understood that they were both lonely, and that their time together on the journey had made them happy. Isabelle and Aramis realized that they had fallen in love during their excursion. The night at the chateau where they stayed together was something that they both promised to never forget because it was something special they shared and knew that they never could again. They had agreed to keep their love secret because if Michel ever found out that Isabelle loved someone else, it would end the partnership that their parents had worked so hard to arrange."

"This is a sad story," Helene said with a frown as her fingers absently twisted Marie's hair between them.

"I know it is," Aramis agreed. "I'm very saddened right now, and I that know you are as well. But, there is more to the story."

Helene looked into the musketeer's eyes, seeking the answer to her question as she asked, "Does it have a happy ending?"

Aramis thought about it for a long moment, looking into this child's innocent irises. He had no idea how his story would end with Anne and his son, but there was a lesson in this that both he and Helene needed above all else.

"Perhaps, not so much a happy ending, but a hopeful one," Aramis decided. Then, he took a moment to think about the ending he wanted to give the story, before he finally concluded his tale. "Even though Isabelle and Aramis knew that they were in love and could not share all that they wanted, they used what precious time they were given in their daily tasks to share what they could. When they passed each other, it was no longer without purpose, and even though their eyes connected in silence, there was also a secret joy in knowing that the other felt the same. When they spoke, they used words that hid from others their true meaning, saying things that sounded normal to anyone else, but to them were particular and significant. They had something between them that was more than just a secret love. They had…hope. They knew they were no longer alone, despite the fact that they could never be together. They knew they secretly cared for each other, even if it they could never be together in the same way as they had on their journey. Their love was not perfect – not by any means – but all they wanted from each other was hope that the other would be happy, and that was what they shared."

Aramis caught Helene's eyes again with his, showing her the sincerity that shone in them. "The point of the story is that even when things seem their most desperate, we must seek the path to finding hope. Isabelle and Aramis found hope in each other, and I want you to know that Porthos and I found a way to give you hope. We made an agreement that we would find you somewhere safe and see that you are given a place where you can live…"

Without warning, Helene suddenly pushed off the bed and brought her tiny arms around his neck, holding onto him, as Marie hung from her fingers behind him. Aramis reached around her small form and hugged her as though she truly were his daughter, taking comfort in this child that needed a parent. In this moment, he closed his eyes and thought not only of his son in the palace, but of the one he never had a chance to know – the one taken from him before he could even be born.

"Will I have a happy ending?" Helene asked quietly against his shoulder, breaking his thoughts.

Unable to open his eyes for a long moment, Aramis choked back the sadness of the children in his life that he would never have the opportunity to raise. His one hand cradled her small head in his palm while his other arm held her in a protective grasp.

Refusing to hide the emotion in his voice, Aramis' words were quiet and heavy, "That is my hope, Helene, and we must not lose hope."


	8. Chapter 8-Helene's Honorable Courage

_Author's Notes_ : Thank you once again for all the encouragement! I'm so very grateful that this story continues to receive such kindness. I think you'll find this chapter a refreshing change from the previous ones, and I hope you enjoy it.

 **Chapter 8 – Helene's Honorable Courage**

Porthos turned away from the scene before him of the people removing the dead bodies from their community when he heard the door to Jacqueline's house open. He saw Helene exiting, followed by Aramis, and both looked tired and worn, but at the same time, they had a contentment in their eyes.

Aramis was back in his full musketeer's uniform, with his long coat holding all his weapons in their appropriate places upon him, and his pouches hanging against his hips. He was in the midst of settling his cavalier over his head while Helene held Marie in her hand. The child stepped forward as though to join Porthos but paused for a moment and turned back to make sure Aramis was still following her.

It was the first time, Porthos mused, that Aramis actually looked like a father going for an outing with his daughter, and if not for the blonde hair and bright blue eyes that were a complete contradiction to him, Helene could have easily fallen into that role of being his daughter. Certainly, she was clever enough to keep up with Aramis, and she had an energy about her that would give any of them a challenge. Their body language in the moment spoke of a bond between them that gave Porthos the satisfaction that the little girl had her trust in his friend restored.

Porthos offered a bright smile at the sight of his brother, and as Helene stepped away, he moved towards Aramis, asking quietly, "How is she?"

Aramis had seen Athos and D'Artagnan off in the distance maintaining a quiet discussion between themselves, and Athos was holding something in his hands that the two of them had been studying. From the corner of his eye, Aramis watched Helene walk around the well, noting that her step-father's body had been removed from the area, and the villagers had been quick about getting the other dead men out of their walkways.

For a few heartbeats, Aramis observed Helene as she held Marie in her right hand while her left index finger traced along the stones. She was humming something to herself, seeming content, and Aramis shifted his attention to Porthos, now that the child was showing signs of being the carefree girl he had initially met.

"I took your advice and promised her that you and I would make sure we find somewhere for her," Aramis replied. "She seems satisfied with that for the moment, but I think…"

Suddenly, Helene screamed, and when Aramis and Porthos turned their attention to her, they saw two older boys standing near her. They were both dressed in somewhat used clothes, pants of brown with suitable boots and white linen tunics with old mud stains. The thinner of the two blonde twins had taken Marie and was holding the doll over the well while the larger one kept blocking Helene from getting near his brother.

"Give her back!" Helene shouted.

"Only babies carry dolls!" the two boys kept repeating.

Both Aramis and Porthos shared a glance, as they said in unison, "The Baptiste Brothers," with Aramis confirming Jacqueline's descriptions, and Porthos guessing at their identity.

Porthos wasted no time and easily grabbed the larger boy by the scruff of his collar and lifted him from the ground.

Aramis grabbed the other by his collar and pulled him back from the well, his other hand grasping the doll from the boy's fingers.

Porthos gently threw his captive onto the ground next to the one that Aramis had ensnared. Athos and D'Artagnan had now caught up with their brothers, and the four of them surrounded the boys so that they could not run. Helene stood beside Aramis, clutching to his long coat with her hands.

"They always take Marie," she told the musketeers angrily.

"Do they now?" Athos asked, crossing his arms over his chest and standing in a position that was both authoritative and intimidating.

"Helene has complained about them from the moment we met her," Porthos acknowledged. He then looked at the boys, and he emphasized his snarl for dramatic effect. "I don't like it when bigger boys tease and mistreat little girls."

The boys tried to sputter something in defense, but D'Artagnan squeezed his fists and stood tall, cutting them off before they could get a sensible word spoken in their defense. "Where I come from, those actions get a young man a lashing and laborious chores for at least a month.

Aramis put a gentle hand on Helene's back, using his other hand to return Marie to her possession. "There is nothing honorable about your actions, and I am not beyond teaching a lesson that neither of you would soon forget."

Athos kept his eyes on the boys, noting the fear on their faces, but instead addressed his brothers. "Maybe a few nights in the Bastille would be lesson enough."

The two boys both started babbling through apologies, their eyes darting around the four men encircling them who kept them pinned to the ground where they were sitting. They were fearing the worst and believing that having been caught by the king's musketeers meant that the king would certainly give them a harsh sentence.

"You do realize that as the King's Musketeers, we have the authority to bring you up on charges of theft and harassment," Athos explained, his monotone voice hiding the hint of amusement that only his oldest friends could hear.

The boys went from babbling their apologies to choking on their tears. One of the men of the village came forward, his clothes ragged and worn as though he had spent his time laboring. Sweat covered his bald head, and the dark leather apron he wore bore marks of having been burnt. He carried nothing that could be used as a weapon, but instead chose to make his words demanding and gruff.

"Just what are you doing with those children?" the man who appeared to be the village blacksmith asked.

"Teaching a lesson in kindness," Athos shot back in his unchanging tone, not moving an inch from his position, nor looking at the man.

A woman came by in a plain dress that covered her swelling belly and put a hand on the man's shoulder, pleading with him not to cause trouble with the musketeers. Her hand instinctively grazed her stomach as she looked amongst the men, fearing that her husband would be jailed for his actions. The two glanced at Helene, and while there was some kind of pity in their eyes for the girl, there was also a bitterness as though they needed to maintain their distance from her.

Reluctantly, though, the blacksmith followed the woman that was his expecting wife, muttering that it was eventually bound to happen that the Baptiste Brothers would find themselves in trouble with the law enforcement of the king.

"Should I just tie their hands or their ankles as well when we take them to the Bastille?" D'Artagnan asked.

"I say both and then gag them so we don't have to hear their whining," Porthos suggested.

"It feels very different, doesn't it when you haven't anyone to stand up for you," Aramis pressed, as he was talking directly to the boys. "It's so easy for you to use Helene as your target of abuse. How does it feel to know that your actions require appropriate discipline?"

"We won't do it again!" the skinnier of the two, Marcel cried.

"We were just having fun," Bernard whimpered, his thick fingers wiping at his runny nose. "We don't want to go to the Bastille!"

Porthos looked amongst his friends, his eyes finally settling on the oldest of them, awaiting his decision. "What do you want to do, Athos?"

"I was thinking we could tie them to a tree for a couple hours, but that would just waste time we cannot afford," Athos explained. "Instead, I'll ask Helene what she thinks should be done."

The girl looked up to Aramis, her wide eyes uncertain about what to do. He looked at her and grinned brightly. "Well, now, that's the fairest decision I think I have ever heard."

Helene studied the boys sitting on the ground crying, watching them look at her with fear in their eyes as though she would tell the musketeers standing around them to do something cruel.

"Aramis, what would you do?" she asked, bringing her eyes back to him.

Gently dropping to one knee and staying next to her, he smiled, "That's not my decision. You are the one who had dealt with their teasing and their mistreatment for so long, it should be up to you to decide their fate."

Helene looked at the Baptiste Brothers again for a long moment and then to Aramis, her eyes trusting him in some way that he had yet to comprehend. "I want them to be nice to me, and I want them to help Mistress Jacqueline with everything she needs. She is old and needs someone to help her."

"You're a very fair and lenient judge," Aramis noted. Then, he stood and looked at the boys, his tone stern. "You've been spared the Bastille, and you should be grateful that Helene has far more kindness than any judge in court would. If I ever find out you've tormented Helene or anyone else again, you'll find the Bastille a lot nicer than what I would do to you. Now, start by apologizing to Helene."

The boys groveled through their repentance, and then the musketeers finally opened their circle around them to let them go. Watching the boys scramble away into the distance, Aramis released his fist and turned to his brothers.

D'Artagnan retrieved a pouch on his side, and opened it before pouring the contents into his hand. Coins rattled as they fell into place in his palm.

Athos said what they were all thinking, and his amusement with the Baptiste Brothers was now fully erased. "Yes, that is a lot of money. These men were hired to track you and Helene and ensure that neither of you take what you know about the abduction with you."

"There were four men, and each had a pouch with similar amounts," D'Artagnan explained, as he set the coins back into the pouch in his hand. "All are dead now, so we can't get any answers."

"Who would pay so much to keep secret the abduction of a noblewoman and her belongings?" Porthos asked more to himself than to anyone in particular.

"We need to hurry to the site where the carriage was robbed if we want more answers," Athos said, the underlying tone of concern etched in his words.

"Helene?" Aramis inquired, as he crouched down in front of the girl again. "Do you remember where you saw the carriage yesterday?"

She nodded with excitement. "Yes, it was by the broken wagon in the woods. Sometimes I go inside it to hide when…"

Her smile faded, and she looked to the ground. "When Papa used to yell at me to leave the house on sunny days."

Standing, Aramis looked at his friends, aware of the regret in their irises for what she had endured in her short life.

"Have you ever ridden a horse, Helene?" D'Artagnan asked, distracting her from her saddened memories. She shook her head, and then he took her hand in his. "Come with me and I'll give you a quick lesson about horses before we take them out for a ride to the place where you saw the carriage."

"She's still emotionally devastated," Athos acknowledged, as the other two followed him, and they moved towards their horses. "It's understandable given her circumstances, but will it compromise her recollections?"

"She'll be all right. She's clever," Porthos pressed. "Besides, Aramis and I are going to look after her, and she knows this."

Catching Athos' eyes, Aramis' tone said far more than his words conveyed. "I'm going to protect her like my own. Like Porthos said, she just needs time."

Athos sighed, as he feared exactly that. The last thing Aramis needed was another child in his life that he could not raise, but since keeping the girl emotionally close had been the key to gaining her help, they had no choice but to continue with doing so.

The sound of a child's excited squeal broke through Athos' dark thoughts, and he turned to see that Helene had her doll clutched to her chest in one hand while her other was holding onto the horn of the saddle of D'Artagnan's horse. The young musketeer had his arm around her tiny waist as he directed his horse into a trot in the woods just outside the village's perimeter. Aramis watched the wind bounce Helene's blonde hair around her face, and she laughed in a way he had not heard from her before.

"Actually, it seems that she needs all of us," Aramis concluded, smiling easily for the first time in hours.

Porthos grinned widely, and Athos just sighed. It was going to be a long investigation.

##### ##### ##### ##### #####

"It's down that way," Helene instructed, her small finger pointing in front of her.

Aramis had noted that the young girl still kept Marie clutched to her chest while D'Artagnan held her on his horse. Aramis had made no protest to take Helene from his Gascon friend, as it only made the most sense to let D'Artagnan continue holding the girl after both he and his horse had become comfortable with her in the saddle during their practice ride earlier. D'Artagnan had done the proper thing first by introducing Helene to the horse and letting her pet it to get it used to her scent. After that rapport had been established, D'Artagnan had an amazing amount of patience for all Helene's questions as he slowly got her used to the feel of the horse's gait and speed.

Shifting his attention towards the direction where Helene had pointed, Aramis pushed his thoughts aside and caught the downward slope of a hill that gave way to a path in the trees. There was another long-dead pathway towards the edge of the slope, the remnants of a wagon trail that was now long overgrown with trees and growth. Along that path, he saw the over-turned wagon, and the hole in the side that Helene probably used to get into it.

"That's my hiding place," Helene announced proudly as the horse she was sitting upon passed by it.

"Well, I would never expect to look for you there," D'Artagnan responded with a smile.

Bringing the horses to the edge of the slope, the group peered down into the six-foot high ravine. There were still two bodies left on the ground in the woods, with blood stains beneath them that marked the once-pristine land. The carriage was nowhere to be found, along with the men who had raided it. All that remained was a thin layer of wheel tracks in the dirt and grass, the strands of greenery already beginning to bounce back into place to disguise the pathway.

Carefully navigating their horses down the slope, the four men dismounted, and Aramis took Helene from D'Artagnan. He led her further from the dead men who were dressed in the clothing of the driver and the footman.

"While my friends investigate over there, you and I should look around for other clues this way," Aramis explained.

"What are we looking for?" Helene asked, as she carried Marie now under her right arm.

Aramis stepped carefully in the low grass, his eyes scanning while answering, "Something that doesn't look like it belongs in the woods."

"All I see are plants," Helene said, as they took a slow walk in the woods near the site of the carriage tracks.

Aramis glanced to the girl for a brief moment before bringing his eyes back to the forestry. "It takes practice to notice something unexpected. You have to pay attention to what you can't see."

Helene looked up to the tops of the trees, confusion evident on her face. "How do you find what you can't see?"

Aramis tried a different approach as he kept scouting the ground around him for clues. "Would you think a coin belongs in a flower?"

Helene shook her head with a quiet giggle. "No. Coins don't grow in flowers!"

"But, if you found one in a flower, that would be very strange, and it would be exactly the kind of thing we are searching for," Aramis explained. "Now, with that said, we should be looking for something…like that."

Helene followed Aramis as he moved quickly to what his eyes had caught a few feet away. He brushed aside a branch from a bush and found a handkerchief on the ground. It was white and embroidered with yellow threads along the edging, small daisies marking the corners. When he picked up the material, something fell out of it, and he recognized a brooch that had been smelted into a silver fox with a blue sapphire for the eye.

"That doesn't grow in the forest," Helene whispered in amazement.

"Exactly," Aramis replied warmly. Recognizing the design, he picked up the brooch, remembering that he had seen it just the day before on the old man he had visited. Looking up, Aramis called, "Athos!"

When the others shifted their attention to him, Aramis then picked up the handkerchief and declared, "The noblewoman was Baron Clamort's daughter."

"Are you sure?" Porthos asked as he moved towards his friend.

Holding out his hand, Aramis showed his fellow musketeers the fox brooch. "It's an exact match to Baron Clamort's."

Athos looked to the little girl and dropped to one knee before her. "Helene, I need you to think very carefully about what you saw and heard yesterday. Is there anything you can remember about what happened?"

"Just that the pretty lady was crying and there was so much loud noise," she replied.

Aramis stuffed the brooch and handkerchief into one of his pouches as he caught Helene looking down at Marie, her fingers tracing over the yarn of hair on the doll's head. He recognized the girl's nervous actions from earlier in the morning, and he took her hand in his. "Come with me, Helene."

Pulling her away from the crowd of men and horses and dead bodies, Aramis found a patch of light pink wildflowers, in which the buds were no larger than his fingernail. He settled the girl beside the plant and knelt on the ground before Helene as he plucked one of the flowers, twisting it into Marie's yarned hair.

Helene lifted the doll before her, seeming to study how the flower looked in Marie's hair.

"There were a lot of muskets firing, like in your village this morning and last night, weren't there?" Aramis asked.

Helene nodded, "It scares the birds. They go flying all over, and the noise scares me."

Knowing it was probably the long way around, Aramis decided to take the path she had given him to see where it leads. "There were birds yesterday?"

"I don't know what kind, but the little brown ones always fly around the trees, singing their bird songs," she told him. "When the noise started, they screeched and flew away in a big group. They never did that before."

"Were there any other noises before the muskets started?" Aramis pressed.

Helene looked up from Marie and reached out to Aramis' cross, her fingers hesitating before touching it, unlike last night when she held it for security while he tended to her wound. Aramis could only wonder what the girl was thinking as she studied the jewelry, and he had decided that he would not discourage her from holding it if it gave her the strength she needed to remember the events of the day before.

"It's all right," he said softly. "I, too, hold it for courage, and I know that you need it right now. I want you to think carefully and tell me all you remember, no matter how tiny the detail."

Helene's small hand cradled the jewelry, and she kept her eyes focused on the cross as it laid in her small palm. Aramis could only imagine that she was thinking of the queen being a strong woman and that Helene was pulling some kind of strength from such knowledge.

Softly, Helene began telling him what she remembered. "A man with dark yellow hair shouted. He said that the lady and the chest were his. He said that she was not allowed to leave him and she needed to marry him. He said her father would change his mind. She had brown hair, and a pretty red dress. She started running, and he was mean to the lady. He pulled her hair and smacked her face. She screamed and cried, and it scared me. That's when I…"

The girl paused in her retelling, her face changing into something of confusion and then realization, and when she brought her eyes to look at Aramis, he saw the fear in them. "I shouted…at him…at the mean man. I thought I was quiet, but I wasn't. She was crying, and I yelled at him to stop and that he was being mean, but he made her go back into the carriage anyway. Then, he said I didn't know what mean was, and he yelled at his men to start running at me."

Aramis suddenly put his hands on Helene's cheeks and kissed on the top of her head in admiration. When he pulled back, he looked her in the eyes, letting her see the truth of his words. "You are the bravest girl I have ever met. What you tried to do was noble, and I am very proud of you."

"Will you save that lady, like you did the queen?" Helene asked.

"It is my duty," Aramis smiled.

He took his hands from Helene's face, thinking of his duty as a musketeer and remembering the memory of Anne beneath him, as he protected her from the musket fire in the prison courtyard. It was the closest he had ever been to her in all the years he served as a musketeer, and all he could smell was the roses and lilacs that had been brushed onto her skin that morning. His duty had demanded that he keep her as calm as possible so that he could protect her without her panicking, and when he spoke to her, he did not expect the sheer kindness and connection that was in her blue eyes when they caught his. Then, when their eyes caught a second time in the aftermath of the attack and there were no longer muskets firing around them, the smell of gunpowder had dissipated despite its thickness in the air, leaving only the field of roses and lilacs upon her and a nervous warmth that had struck him in the chest. When Anne moved to touch his injury, his hand had instinctively clasped hers, to prevent her from being blemished by the touch of blood and battle. What he had not expected was to feel the fire that burned through his glove at her touch, and it washed him in a wave of excitement he had never before known.

Blinking away the memories that he had been unsuccessful in keeping buried, Aramis shoved them back inside and stood as he turned to his brothers. "The baron's daughter was abducted by a scorned suitor."

"The wine-maker," Porthos assuredly supplied. "Baron Clamort rambled on quite a bit about his children, but he said that he regretted trying to convince his youngest daughter, Gabrielle, to enter into a marriage with someone named Reginald. The baron said that Gabrielle had her reasons for being cautious with Reginald, and when she caught the wine-maker trying to write something and mark it with her father's seal, the baron gave his approval for her to end the courtship."

"This all took place not that long ago, but the baron was not specific about the timeline," Aramis added, remembering one of the many stories that the old baron had told them to keep them from leaving right away.

He regretted now that he and Porthos had made such a hasty retreat from Baron Clamort's generosity. Perhaps if they had stayed just a little longer, they might have had more information on which to investigate. Then, again, if they had not left when they had, Helene might not be alive to provide them with the narratives that she was able to offer.

"We need to talk with Baron Clamort," Athos instructed. "He might be able to tell us where to find this Reginald before he does something worse than what he already had."

Gathering themselves, the musketeers returned to their horses, and this time Helene chose to ride with Aramis. None of them objected, and Aramis suspected it was because Athos realized that keeping the child calm and trusting as Aramis was capable of doing was the only way to maintain her cooperation. Time was of the essence now, especially if they wanted to find Baron Clamort's daughter and free her from whatever revenge her former suitor wanted to enact.


	9. Chapter 9-The Tale of Sir Athos' Lands

_Author's Notes_ : Thank you, everyone, as always, for the continued interest! I'm very grateful that my story continues to entertain. This fandom has some very kind people, and I'm so happy to have discovered "The Musketeers," as I continue to meet others who had enjoyed this series as much as I have. My story has few more chapters after this one, and I promise that the action will return very soon!

 **Chapter 9 – The Tale of Sir Athos' Lands**

The long ride through the woods and the open fields did not go quite as quickly as the musketeers had hoped. Because of Helene's lack of riding, they had to stop more often than they preferred to give her backside a rest from the bruising she was developing. They had tried sitting her within different positions on the saddle and even putting down more layers of material where possible, but as the ride continued, her discomfort grew further. They even had her sit with each of them throughout the ride, but saddle sores on a young girl who was already recovering from a musket ball graze was not wise, and they all knew it.

Porthos had advised that they were within a half-hour ride from Baron Clamort's estate when he recognized the remnants of an old, three-foot high stone barrier that had been destroyed some decades ago. Weather and the elements had worn down the edges of the barrier, and when he had brushed his hand along it the other day to study the structure, parts of the stone had broken off beneath his fingers.

Aramis had urged his brothers to ride along ahead of him as he was now walking his horse, with the reins in one hand while he clasped Helene's hand in the other, walking parallel to the barrier. Athos suggested that Porthos stay with them, and none of the men disagreed. Then, Athos and D'Artagnan had taken Aramis' offer to ride ahead, agreeing to rendezvous with Porthos and Aramis later that day.

"Can you tell me another story?" Helene asked as she walked in the bright sunshine and glanced up at Aramis, holding Marie with her other hand against her chest.

From beside his horse, Porthos laughed now that he had taken to walking his steed as well so that he could keep in pace with Aramis and Helene. Porthos' voice boomed at his brother, "Yes, Aramis, I would love to hear one of your stories. I kind of like the idea of you being my squire."

Aramis gave his friend a fond smile, showing his appreciation for the teasing, and he was grateful that they were both still alive to share in such moments. Watching Porthos return the gratitude in his eyes, Aramis happily praised his friend, "Well, Princess Helene had needed only the strongest and bravest knight. I could think of no other."

"Can this one be happy?" Helene pressed with expectation in her words. "I didn't like the sad one you told me this morning."

"You didn't tell her a happy ending?" Porthos said, shaking his head and making a "tsking" sound. He glanced at Helene. "How dare he!"

Helene giggled at Porthos, her eyes shifting again towards Aramis with anticipation in them.

"Well, now, let's see…" Aramis muttered as his mind reeled through his adventures with his friends. He considered a number of their experiences, trying to decide which one would be ideal for a child and could be easily modified, especially since Porthos was present and listening. When Aramis finally settled upon an experience he felt was appropriate, he gave a charming smile and looked out across the field they were walking within.

"Long before Sir Athos met Sir Porthos, Aramis, or D'Artagnan, he was once a wealthy landowner," Aramis began, bringing his eyes back to the child in his and Porthos' company, "However, the life there was not suited for Sir Athos, and he left his home in search of adventure and something more worthy of the fighting talents he had learned while growing up. He found himself a new home amongst the knights of the kingdom and he honed his skills as a fighter. After many years, he worked up the ranks and was awarded knighthood. Eventually, in the years after he became a knight, Sir Athos had met his friends, Sir Porthos, Aramis, and D'Artagnan. But, what Sir Athos did not know was that the people on his lands had grown restless when a new landowner, named Baron Renard, wanted to take the land that once belonged to Sir Athos' family."

Porthos started laughing and gave Helene a look of complete contentment. "Oh, Helene, I like this story. It's very exciting, and you should like it, too."

Aramis shifted his eyes from the smiling child between them and then towards his brother, who was walking on Helene's other side. He saw Helene clutch Marie with expectation, awaiting more of the story in anticipation of the excitement that Porthos promised, and Aramis only hoped he could deliver.

Speaking again, Aramis narrated the next part of the story. "Desperate for help, the people of Sir Athos' lands had convinced him – quite forcibly – to return to his family's lands so that he could assist them in ending the dispute between them and Baron Renard. Unfortunately, this new landowner was not very patient or kind, and he wanted the people to serve him as slaves, rather than be their own community. He used his militia to scare the people into following his demands and would hurt them or destroy their property when they disobeyed. Sir Athos was very reluctant to get involved, though, because he felt his duties now belonged with his fellow knights – not on his land. The people pleaded and begged for his help, and eventually Sir Athos knew it was as much his duty to help them as it was his duty to his fellow knights."

"Well, that's not quite how it happened," Porthos muttered, and then he caught Helene watching Aramis with wide eyes, her excitement shining in them. Relenting to the way Aramis was telling the child a more subdued version, Porthos agreed, "But, it's close enough."

Aramis used Porthos' quiet interruption to gather his memories and develop more ideas for how to alter the story just enough but still keep some root of truth at the heart of it.

"Are both of you in this story?" Helene asked.

Smiling again, Aramis nodded. "Absolutely. D'Artagnan will be in this story as well, and believe it or not, even the famed captain of the knights offers his help."

Tilting her head in curiosity, Helene asked, "Who is the captain?"

"A man who has his secrets, but is somehow very integral to the lives of his knights," Aramis answered. "His men have great respect and concern for him, and he does in turn for them."

"His name is Treville," Porthos interjected, coming to the realization that despite any turmoil that he and the captain had ever shared, he still had great respect for the man and considered him a father in his own capacity. Besides, if Aramis could spin words in these stories for Helene, then he could add his own flair as well. "Captain Treville. There is no other man like him."

Aramis and Porthos shared a proud look, as they thought of how their captain would never be anything less to them, and then Aramis was aware of Helene's impatience to hear more.

Continuing with the story, Aramis explained, "It just happened that Sir Porthos, Aramis, D'Artagnan - and Captain Treville had decided that they would not leave Sir Athos to battle Baron Renard and his militia alone. They wanted to be with their friend and assist in whatever way they could. So, the group of them decided to travel to Sir Athos' lands and see for themselves what they could do. They discovered that the people lived very simple lives – mostly farmers or smithies – and that they had no knowledge of how to do battle, as they never had a need before. But, in order to free themselves from the baron's attempts to subdue them, Sir Athos would need his friends' help, especially that of Captain Treville who knew so much about training others."

Porthos laughed, and Helene shifted her attention to him as he spoke, her blue eyes absorbing his words. "Here is where it starts to get interesting, Helene. See, when these people tried to fire a musket, they missed their targets. Musket balls landed everywhere – on the ground, in the trees, in a barn wall. If you can think of it, that's where they landed – everywhere but on the targets that Captain Treville had created for them to use. Those who were strong enough to raise a sword looked as awkward as a cat treading water. They thought the way to use the weapon was by holding it as though chopping down a tree."

Aramis jumped back in now and took the next part of the story, aware of Helene bringing her gaze back to him. "Captain Treville and his knights only had a couple days to teach these people how to be brave and strong with weapons they did not know how to use. But, the captain and his men were persistent, refusing to believe these people were not capable of saving their village, and they found ways to give these people confidence. When the day finally came, and Baron Renard brought his militia, the people were as ready as they could be. However, it was their confidence that gave them courage, and they stood tall and together as one. They fought bravely with the knights and Captain Treville, and after a long afternoon of muskets and swords, the militia realized that they could not be defeated by the people of Sir Athos' lands."

"Did anyone get hurt?" Helene asked.

"Sadly, yes, because in battle there is rarely a person without injury," Aramis replied. "And the people who were injured were cared for as best they could by their fellow villagers. But, the important thing was that the people of the village had proven to Baron Renard that they were no longer afraid of him and that they would defend their homes with their lives."

Helene looked between the two men. "What happened to Sir Athos and D'Artagnan?"

"Sir Athos decided that he liked his time in the knights with his friends more than the time he spent on his family's lands," Aramis concluded. "He relinquished his title to the people and gave them full control of their own lives and the land on which they lived. He and D'Artagnan rode back to their kingdom with Sir Porthos, Aramis, and Captain Treville and awaited the next adventure they would share."

"Sir Athos is very nice to do that," Helene smiled.

"Yes, he was," Porthos agreed. However, he was feeling restless now that the story was over, and he wanted to catch up to his other brothers to make sure that they had arrived safely at the residence of Baron Clamort. "Do you think you could ride again for a while, Helene?"

Nodding, Helene looked at Aramis, seeking his permission in the way a child would of its parent. "Could I ride with Porthos this time?"

Flashing his smile at Porthos, Aramis paused and released Helene's hand as he offered an exaggerated bow to his greatest friend. "Princess Helene would like to ride with the bravest and strongest knight of the kingdom. Would you do this squire the honor?"

Porthos mounted his horse laughing. "Her Majesty's wish is my command."

Aramis raised Helene to Porthos, watching her settle on the saddle and then he mounted his own horse. Hoping they weren't too far behind their friends, Porthos and Aramis rode as quickly as their horses would allow them as they raced to Baron Clamort's estate.

##### ##### ##### ##### #####

Lifting her son from the blanket on the cool grass, Anne brought him into her arms and sat now upon the bench under the thickly-branched tree. Her heavy skirts ruffled with her movements, the green and gray of the expensive material becoming crinkled. She had opted for this particular outfit after morning court had dismissed so that she could hide the grass stains that she was certain would develop upon her skirts after playing on the thick lawn with her son.

Secluded in this place of the gardens, the leaves provided them plenty of shade, and with the position of the bench, she was safely obscured behind the many shrubs and plants of the palace gardens. Anne had learned about the privacy in this part of the gardens many years ago, but she never thought she would have a reason to utilize this space. However, after her concerns this morning for Aramis' safety, she needed somewhere she could go and just spend time with the child that was the bond between them.

The lush grass and the scents of the plants were very strong today, as a cool breeze shifted the freshness of the greens and the sweetness of the flowers in her direction. It was also another reason she liked this place. It smelled of the foliage that surrounded the convent where she and Aramis had spent their night together, and the scents revitalized her memories of being with him so closely.

Shifting the child in her arms, Anne smiled brightly as she looked at the rounded shape of his face and the thick hair upon his head. Her little Louis was still changing and looking so different every day that it was often difficult to discern when he reflected her image and when he reflected Aramis' features. There were moments when she swore that he looked like her husband, rather than Aramis, and it only reminded her of the leadership burdens that would one day become this child's life.

For now, though, little Louis was a baby – one that she had wanted for too long – and in this moment, she was not Anne of Spain, the Queen of France, and wife of King Louis. In this moment, she was a proud and loving mother, and she took the privacy in this place to sing-song her words to her son and make silly noises that would get his sweet laughter echoing between them.

 _There_ , she thought with a grin that she never revealed to anyone else but this child. _There it is_. In that last smile, she saw Aramis' twinkle in little Louis' eyes. Only in these private moments would she allow her son to be free enough to show her who his father truly was. Her heart fluttered as she saw her baby's lips shift into a slightly crooked giggling smile. _Oh, you little rascal_ , she chided silently in joy. _That is without a doubt your father's smile_.

"Her Majesty."

Anne stopped herself in the midst of pretending to nibble on Louis' cheeks, her sing-song words abruptly coming to a stop. She knew that she did not need to stop playing with her son with such silly intentions to make him laugh in Constance's presence, as the woman had become her most trusted ally, but she did so because it kept her in practice with quickly resetting her regal mask.

"Good afternoon, Constance," Anne smiled as she settled Louis upon her lap and offered him a wooden duck from the blanket to play with instead of interacting in her silly games.

Anne caught that Constance was wearing her preferred light blue and white dress, the one she had made into the uniform of the Queen's confidant. Her long, brown hair was pulled from her face in curls that trailed down her back, and her kind, brown eyes looked at both Anne and Louis with a compassion that she only offered them when they were away from the hassles of court.

Glancing around quickly, Anne saw that they were still quite privately hidden away. This place was one of the very few locations where she felt safe enough to be frank and relax from the usual protocols of court. In here, she could feel herself be just a regular person and loosen – just slightly – the mask of royal propriety.

"I'm sorry I was on an errand when you received the news of Aramis' disappearance," Constance told her softly, knowing that this was one of the queen's designated "safe zones," and one of the very few places to talk openly. "Had I known..."

Anne interrupted her friend quickly, "No one can predict when a musketeer's mission will become dangerous." Nodding her head at the bench, since her hands were occupied with a baby and a toy, Anne offered the spot to Constance. "Please sit so we can talk freely."

Constance smiled self-deprecatingly and then sat on the bench. "I must confess that my errand was rather personal and selfish."

"You have your secrets, and it is not my place to demand them of you," Anne said, feeling her words start into that sing-song as she glanced at her son.

"I'd rather you know, Your Majesty," Constance told her softly, smiling at the baby's infectious giggle. "I was practicing my musket skills. If it's one thing I learned from D'Artagnan, it's that he won't always be there to protect me."

Anne shifted her glance to her friend, her head shaking in admiration. "You are a far braver woman than I could ever hope to be. I don't even like the idea of using a musket for hunting. I couldn't kill an animal – certainly I could never kill another person."

Constance touched Anne's arm in a friendly and caring gesture. "Not everyone needs to be a fighter – nor should they strive to be one. It's not wrong of you to prefer the protection of others, and I would never think less of you because of that. I would just like to think of myself as another layer of safety for you and your son, especially when our musketeers are occupied elsewhere."

"Thank you," Anne smiled in gratitude for Constance's refreshing honesty. Then, she swallowed hard and felt her gaze drift out towards the lush grasses and foliage of the garden. "Have you heard anything of Aramis? This morning, Captain Treville barely mentioned anything more than he was missing, and the others had gone in search of him."

"I saw Captain Treville this morning after my practice. He told me that the last word he had received was when Porthos arrived at the garrison for reinforcements last night. He was in a hurry, but he did relay that Aramis was pinned down with an injured child and standing his ground against musket fire." Constance felt the regret of her next words, her voice growing increasingly soft. "None of them have returned yet."

Anne closed her eyes and took a worried breath, instinctively clutching her son closer to her chest. Even she knew it was a predisposition of Aramis' character to protect those unable to defend themselves, and she could only admire him more for keeping an injured child safe from further harm. It was Aramis' selflessness that was part of the reason she had developed such strong emotions for him, and it was because of the sacrifices he had made in his duty as a musketeer that she knew she could never fully have him for herself, even if she gave up her life as Queen of France.

When she opened her eyes, Anne looked at Constance. "Is it wrong of me to feel this much ache for a man that I know cannot ever share a life with me? His absences bring me loneliness, but those moments when our eyes meet rejuvenate me. You saw that for yourself when you caught me for foolishly trying to renew my contact with Aramis in Emilie's camp. In that moment, I realized that he and I would always be under prying eyes and never have another moment like we did at that…secluded place where we shared our intimacies. What I don't understand is why I feel so strongly and how I can possibly continue to do so when it seems everything is against us."

"Because hope doesn't understand logic," Constance breathed. "I worked so hard to tell myself that an affair with D'Artagnan was wrong – sinful. But, no matter what I have told myself logically, my heart still believes that there is hope that he and I will have some kind of future, and I must remain patient."

Anne looked again at her son, babbling to himself on her lap with the wooden duck in his hands. If there was any symbol of hope in Anne's life, it was this child. His birth had brought her back into her husband's graces – although it was a fleeting effort, as the king of France continued to share in whatever affair he chose to have with his mistress of the moment. Still, this baby gave Anne the hope that she was not entirely infertile, and she had done her obligation by giving Louis the heir he so desired. This baby was also hope because he reminded her of the night in which she had someone love her, touch her, and hold her in ways she had only ever reserved for her fantasies.

"Hope," Anne softly spoke, glancing at Constance. "It is such a dangerous concept. If it doesn't fulfill, there is no recovering from its loss, but if it does, the reward is so much greater."

"Her Majesty?" a woman's voice called from the distance, as though looking around the gardens for her.

Anne and Constance shared a pained look, knowing that their moment of truth was over and that it was time to return to the complications of court.

"As always, Constance, thank you for your candid discussion," Anne told her softly as she began to stand from the bench.

Constance followed the queen's lead and started picking up the dauphin's blanket and toys. "I am grateful to be in your service, Majesty, and I will do more to make myself available to your needs."

"Perhaps you and I could share some hope," Anne smiled as the two of them exited from the concealed location. "I am relieved to know I am not alone in my hope, and I am thankful for your advice."

As Anne stepped further from the bench that had been one of her few sources of freedom, she decided that having hope was better than having nothing at all. And, secretly, she would hope for Aramis' safety so that one day they might be able to share in the love she knew they were both capable of offering each other.


	10. Chapter 10-The Clamort Estate

_Author's Notes_ : Thanks, as always, for reviewing and following! As promised, this chapter will bring a return of the action, as the story is nearing its conclusion. There are a total of twelve chapters, with an epilogue, so hang on a little longer. You're almost there!

 **Chapter 10 –The Clamort Estate**

Athos and D'Artagnan rounded the tree line and came across the entrance to the Clamort Estate. It was a residence that was the size of two garrisons, with windows along many of the walls, and it stood at least three stories high. The entrance to the property was bordered by a stone wall with an opening towards the courtyard that was large enough to fit two wagons through side by side. Pink and yellow flowers were connected to a series of green vines that grew along the wall, giving a splash of color to what would normally appear as a gray and bland barrier.

Entering the courtyard, the two musketeers found a groom scurrying towards their tired horses. Athos quickly dismounted from his steed, with D'Artagnan following his lead.

"Where is Baron Clamort?" Athos asked hurriedly.

"In his study, possibly napping at this hour, but he will be delighted to see musketeers again," the groom, a man older than Athos said. His black jacket and boots were covered with stable dust, but he showed no concern about his appearance, as he simply took the reins of the horses in preparation for brushing them down and feeding them.

"You don't understand," D'Artagnan pressed before the groom could get very far. "We have word that Baron Clamort's daughter is in danger, and we need to speak with him immediately."

The groomsman's face suddenly dropped in worry, and he started moving quickly, despite his aged appearance with wrinkles along his brow and thick gray hair that was cropped close to his ears. Calling across the courtyard, the groom flagged down a female servant who was younger than he was by perhaps a decade.

The middle-aged woman was dressed in a simple blue dress with a white apron overlaying the fabrics, and for a moment her clothing reminded the musketeers of a nun in a convent more than a house servant. The servant's brown hair was hanging down her back, with a braid that kept the sides from her face, and her skin contained a healthy glow that offered evidence of how well the baron cared for his servants. Aramis and Porthos had mentioned that the baron treated his personnel with graciousness, and so far their observations had been correct.

"I am Mary, one of the baron's caregivers," the woman said as she stepped away from the flowers she was gathering off of one of the vines, holding the miniature basket of fragrant blooms in her hands. "Please, sirs, come with me, and I will take you to him."

Following the young woman, Athos and D'Artagnan were led inside the main staircase at the front of the house into a small parlor that had some furniture and a fireplace. She motioned for them to continue following her, and she led them down bright hallways with windows allowing for the sunlight to enter. The white walls reflected the brightness, and the musketeers could see just how well the baron's servants cared for him. Everything was clean and well-kept, and while the man was no king, his home was portrayed to look as though he was.

Rounding another corner, Mary opened two large doors and had them enter into a study that was filled with parchments and books. There was a round table in the center of it, along with at least three chairs scattered in the room.

At the far end of the table, dozing quietly was an elderly man, who looked as though he was somewhere in or near his eighties. He had deep wrinkles near his eyes, the ones that appear from many years of laughter, and his gray hair was pulled from his face in a ponytail that fell to the back of his head. There was a bristly layer of gray stubble over his cheeks and chin, giving the impression that he was either starting to grow a beard or recently had it removed.

Baron Clamort was leaning against the cushioned side of the chair, with a blanket wrapped over him, and his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Sitting on the table before the baron was a book and an inkwell, with the quill lying beside the opened manual. There was a bottle of wine and a glass goblet that was still half-full of the dark liquid.

Mary moved slowly to the baron's side and set the basket upon the table. Then, she gently shook his shoulder, her gestures reminiscent of someone accustomed to Clamort's habits. Softly, she said, "My Lord, there are musketeers here to see you."

The old man stirred and then he blinked his eyes tiredly, the blanket falling to reveal the fox brooch upon the lapel of his jacket. As Baron Clamort recognized the shoulder pauldrons of the King's Musketeers on the men visiting his study, Mary helped him to sit up straighter, and he smiled warmly at his guests.

"Two more of you!" he laughed quietly, deepening the wrinkles near his eyes.

Despite the urgency in their abrupt attendance, Athos could not help offering a kind smile. "You met with our friends the other day, Aramis and Porthos."

"They were such fine fellows," Baron Clamort nodded, awakening further after taking a sip of the wine from the glass near his book. "They had the most wonderful tales for me! I don't suppose you could indulge an old man in some of your adventures? I like to write them down so I can read them during my long and confined days."

Athos stepped closer, "I'm sorry to say that our visit is not of the pleasant variety."

D'Artagnan followed Athos' lead and moved closer to the baron. He knew that Athos could occasionally be blunt, and he decided to take the lead and ease the blow for the old man. "When was the last time you saw your daughter – Gabrielle?"

"She left the morning that Aramis and Porthos arrived," the baron said, his smile fading. He glanced between the two men, and his cordial demeanor had considerably diminished, as concern had etched onto his wrinkled face. "Has something happened to her?"

"A witness saw her carriage attacked," D'Artagnan continued, easing the old man into their findings, not sure what was wrong with Clamort's health and not wanting to be the one to set off a delicate heart, if he had such an ailment. "We investigated it, and came across evidence of mercenaries and a man you know as Reginald possibly behind the attack. We believe this Reginald has taken Gabrielle, along with the chest that she was transporting."

"Had we known that Aramis and Porthos would be arriving that morning, I would have convinced her to wait and have them escort her to the office of the church in Paris," Baron Clamort said softly, shaking his head. "However, Gabrielle believed she would be safe with her entourage, and I admit that I was naïve enough to agree with her. Are you certain it was Reginald? Neither of us had heard from him in close to two weeks."

"We had surmised his involvement based on the evidence that was found in the numerous attacks he had launched," D'Artagnan explained.

Clamort looked down, his eyes clouded with concern, and mumbled to himself, "She was right not to trust him."

"What was in the chest?" Athos asked, bringing the old man back to the present.

"A significant donation for the church," the baron offered, looking up again at the men in his company. "I've already taken my fortune and had it noted in my will to divide it amongst the staff and my family. I know my sunrises are growing fewer with each day that passes, and a reasonable percentage of my fortune was to be given to the church so that my name would be remembered in good favor."

Softly laughing without humor suddenly, Clamort continued, "I don't much follow religion anymore, but I know that the church preserves histories, and without a proper donation, my name would just be forgotten, never archived. The people who live here would have their home taken from them, and that donation was to ensure that the people in my care keep these lands for themselves."

"Is there anywhere you can think of that this Reginald would take your daughter?" D'Artagnan asked.

"I regret ever allowing him into my home," Baron Clamort scowled, as his eyes clouded over with memories. "Three months ago, he came to my house offering his goods – and he had produced exceptional wine. Over the course of a few weeks, he had enamored Gabrielle and myself, and I thought she would finally have someone to take care of her. But, it did not last, and when he fell out of favor with her, she found him in my office. She caught him petitioning a sale – in my name – with him as the sole buyer. He had already embossed my seal on the letter, with an insultingly low offer, his forgery noting that I had accepted it. At that moment, Gabrielle had him thrown out of the house and told him to never return, making certain to burn the letter."

Making a loose fist, as the age of the baron's bones would not let him make one any tighter, he muttered, "Thieving bastard."

Athos took a step closer, leaning his hand gently upon the table near the old man. "Baron, I understand your frustration, but none of us know Reginald's intentions for your daughter or the donated money. I need you to think of anywhere he might possibly take her."

Rubbing a bony hand over his tired face, Baron Clamort looked to the musketeers in his study. His dark, aged eyes pleaded, as sadness and concern glazed over them. "Reginald has a vineyard just to the north of here. That is the only place I can think of where he would take Gabrielle. If he has any other property, he never divulged it to me."

D'Artagnan took a step forward, "We will do everything we can to find Gabrielle."

Touching upon the book in front of him, Baron Clamort took a worried breath. "I know you will. But, I must ask one thing of you before you go."

Both musketeers shared a quick glance and then brought their eyes to the baron's dark irises as he looked up to meet their gazes, noticing now that for as fragile as Baron Clamort appeared on the outside, inside him was a man who was full of fire and intelligence, and he was merely living in a dying husk of his former self. They could clearly see that if he had a young body, he would have taken it upon himself to march into battle on his own to get his daughter back.

"When it comes to my daughter's safety, know that I don't care about the money or preserving my family history. Give Reginald the money if it will satisfy him and free Gabrielle from him," the baron told them strongly, "But, also know that I care about Gabrielle more than anything in this world, and if Reginald has dared to harm one hair on her, you kill him. I won't consider you men of less honor if you do because if Reginald succeeds in his plans and makes the loyal people in my service homeless, then he deserves no justice."

Athos and D'Artagnan both took a deep breath, but it was Athos who spoke. "I assure you, Baron, that we will do all we can within our jurisdiction. We must adhere to the laws of the king by all means first, but if that is not possible, I promise you, there will be the justice you seek."

D'Artagnan gave a weary glance to the man he considered his mentor, and he wondered just how much Athos said was to appease a dying man's wish and how much was truth. However, they also needed Clamort to do them a small favor as well.

D'Artagnan addressed the old man with his request. "Baron Clamort, Aramis and Porthos will be along sometime soon. Please let them know that we will be riding northbound to rescue your daughter."

"Go," Clamort instructed solemnly, his eyes glancing between the two musketeers. "I will ensure that they know where to find you."

Turning from the old baron, Athos and D'Artagnan rushed out of the study and followed Mary back to the courtyard. The groom had provided them with fresh horses from the baron's stable, assuring that their horses would be rested appropriately and that they would be ready for them when they return.

##### ##### ##### ##### #####

Aramis and Porthos were able to make the final leg of the journey to Baron Clamort's estate without needing to stop for Helene to rest. As they arrived at the large building, Helene had been in complete awe at the size of the home, and Aramis could only imagine what she would think of the palace. Along the ride, he had silently considered the tour of Paris he would give to Helene and tried not to think about where he and Porthos would leave her when it was time for them to part ways.

In the meantime, the three of them had been greeted with fondness by the baron's staff, no doubt due to Porthos and Aramis having made a very memorable impression during their previous visit. However, the pleasantries were quick, and after their greeting, they had been informed that their companions had ridden north, pursuing the only lead they had on Reginald and where he might be holding Gabrielle.

They were offered fresh horses, but Porthos and Aramis had insisted that their steeds were fine, as they did not ride them hard. Aramis had asked Baron Clamort if it would be within reason to leave Helene with him and his servants, as they did not want her caught in a crossfire between Reginald and his men when they confronted them. The baron had been more than accommodating, his actions showing that he was overjoyed to have a child in his company.

Helene, unfortunately, had not been so certain about being separated from Aramis and Porthos. She wanted to stay with her musketeer friends, but Aramis reminded her that there was the chance that they would be involved in a lot of musket fire. Helene's protests had quieted with the memories of the musket noise, and when one of Baron Clamort's servants had offered the child a dessert tray with cakes and fruits, her face had lit up at the sight of treats she had never known before.

The baron had appeared to grow ten years younger while Helene had taken a chair at the table in his study. As Helene had set Marie on the table to enjoy her slice of cake, Clamort had assured the musketeers that the child was welcome in his home during their absence and that he would see that his servants took appropriate care of her. All he asked in return was that they ensured his daughter was safe and brought back to him at all costs.

As they left the study, Aramis heard Baron Clamort asking Helene about the adventures that led her to meeting the musketeers. He heard her briefly mention Marie and the Baptiste Brothers, but the further Aramis and Porthos walked away from the study, the less they could hear of her reply, and then Aramis knew that his attentions were required elsewhere. He had no doubt that Helene was safe with the baron, and with the way he cared for everyone on his estate, she would probably never want to leave.

Riding hard now to make up for time and find their brothers, Aramis and Porthos had kept their conversations to a minimum, concentrating only on moving forward. They had kept their thoughts to themselves, watching the scenery blur past as they maintained their observations for any signs of their brothers or any indication of danger from Reginald or his men.

On more than one occasion, Aramis had taken the breath he needed to tell Porthos about his son and his emotions for Anne, ruminating over Jacqueline's advice about Porthos never beseeching him. However, he also had Athos' stern warning warring within him, and every time he dared to talk to Porthos, he found his mouth closing tightly. It was the fear of condemning Porthos to the noose that continued to stop him from talking. It was bad enough that Aramis, Anne, and Athos might still end up on the gallows, but the last person he wanted to condemn to that fate was his greatest friend. And, it was because of that fear that Aramis kept fighting against telling Porthos everything.

"I kind of miss the little sprout," Porthos muttered about Helene, breaking Aramis' dark thoughts. "She's good company."

"That, she is," Aramis agreed quietly, grateful for the distraction. At least he could talk about Helene with Porthos, as she somehow satisfied his fatherly instincts when he could not be with his son.

Laughing to himself, Porthos couldn't help but ask, "Can you imagine the captain's face when we bring Helene back with us?"

In spite of the turmoil that Aramis was feeling, even he could not help but give a small laugh at the thought of Captain Treville being rendered entirely helpless by a curious little girl and her faithful doll. If Aramis thought of himself as Helene's father, he wondered if Treville would think of himself as Helene's grandfather. And, he felt a twinkling in his eyes at the vision of Captain Treville tripping over himself with trying to discipline a child, rather than a regiment of adult men.

A musket shot echoed in the distance, and it quickly sobered the two men, ending the light-hearted joy that Helene had brought them. With their attention shifted now to their brothers' safety, Porthos and Aramis wasted no time and urged their horses harder. When the wooded trail they had been riding upon opened to a landscape of rows upon rows of vines growing on wooden structures and a distant, but humble-sized home, Aramis and Porthos knew they had arrived at Reginald's lands.

They saw another puff of musket fire, followed by the crack of the gunpowder further down the vineyard, and when they were close enough, they slowed their horses. Dismounting, they crept behind the latticework, using the thick vines for cover, listening for the sounds of Athos' or D'Artagnan's voices.

Holding their muskets in ready positions, Aramis and Porthos ran from one thick lattice to another. They maintained their distance from the house, but drew close enough to assess the situation and determine their actions. They saw eight men in various positions on the front porch, each of them ducking for cover behind pillars or an overturned table.

From inside the house, they could hear a man shouting, "Hold them back!"

"They are all protecting the front of the house," Aramis noted quietly to Porthos, peering between the vines of the grapes before him to study the layout of the house.

"Maybe D'Artagnan or Athos are already covering the back," Porthos suggested.

"Or, maybe they think D'Artagnan and Athos are us," Aramis surmised, turning his attention away from the house to catch Porthos' eye.

Porthos nodded, realizing just what Aramis' thoughts had concluded. "They are only hired mercenaries after all, not the smartest men."

"Right," Aramis explained, "The last they knew there were only two of us – you and me. The other four men in Helene's village were all killed so there was no one to report back to Reginald our true numbers. If I'm right, they won't be expecting an additional two musketeers."

Porthos smiled in his agreement of his brother's plan. "So, the back door it is then."

Keeping their distance from the house, Aramis and Porthos kept low and moved about the thick, vine-covered lattice work. They ducked and weaved quietly and slowly, covering as much ground as possible without bringing attention to themselves. They only hoped that Athos and D'Artagnan would be able to keep the men on the porch distracted long enough so that they could get into the back entrance.

As they traveled the land, Aramis and Porthos heard Athos sternly calling for their cooperation. The only reply he received in response was a hail of musket fire, and when the smoke cleared, two of Reginald's men were no longer standing. One was crumpled over the railing, unmoving, and the other was missing, presumed dead on the floor of the porch.

Staying hidden within the foliage near the back end of the house, Aramis and Porthos found two men standing on the small porch, lazily scanning the area with their muskets. Their body language made it very clear that these men had been convinced that the two musketeers at the front of the house were their only adversaries. Confident about his earlier guess that the men were expecting only two musketeers, Aramis was satisfied enough now to implement his plan.

"I'll take the one on the right," Aramis proposed as he raised his musket and steadied his hands.

Porthos made no protest, knowing his friend was the better shot as the man on the right was trickier to target than the one on the left, and they needed to take these two out at the same time if they didn't want the firefight to shift to them.

"On three?" Porthos asked.

Aramis breathed softly. "No, wait for the muskets to go off in the front of the house. Let the noise of their volley cover ours somewhat."

When the next round of muskets fired from the opposite side of the house a few moments later, Aramis and Porthos pulled the triggers on their weapons, the explosion of gunpowder following only a half-second afterwards and getting lost in the volley of shots. It was close timing, and they hoped it was enough to hide their firing. The two men on the back stoop both crashed to the ground in a heap of death. Wasting no time, Aramis and Porthos scurried to the back of the house and ducked as they reached the small porch. They listened for more men to come their way while they hurriedly reloaded, and then without warning, Porthos stood and kicked in the back door.

Bringing the musket around, Porthos peered inside and saw nothing but an empty kitchen area. He stepped through the doorframe warily, with Aramis against his back as the marksman kept watch on the open area of the yard. Moving as one, the two men who had adopted each other as brothers, cleared through the kitchen and moved toward the next room. Their eyes shifted all around them, looking up, down, left, right, and when they turned, it was a perfect waltz of each partner knowing what the other was doing without having to ask.

Their dance carried on as they moved into the empty dining room that was adjacent to the kitchen. It was in the dining room that the lone person they encountered was a woman that they could only presume was Baron Clamort's daughter. She was dressed in a bright red gown, her light brown hair loose around her head and falling in wavy strands down past her shoulders. A meal had been placed upon the table, with one plate half-eaten in front of an empty chair that they assumed was where Reginald was sitting before Athos and D'Artagnan had arrived. The other plate was before Gabrielle and appeared to have been barely touched.

As they neared her, they saw the bruise across her left cheek that blemished the pleasing symmetry of her face. She was younger than either of them expected, considering how old her father was, as she looked to be no older than twenty-years-old. Her brown eyes, though, were very much her father's and the baron's distinguishing chin was an exact match to hers.

Moving closer to Gabrielle, they saw that she was tied to the chair, her wrists bound to the arms. The young woman looked up to them and took a breath, about to either speak or scream, but Aramis was quicker, as his free hand raised to his lips, and he signaled for her to stay quiet. Porthos pointed to his pauldron, showing her the musketeer symbol, and she took a relieved breath instead.

"You cannot take my wife!" Reginald shouted from the next room over, the sound of a musket following his words.

Gabrielle sucked in a breath of fear, her eyes pleading with the musketeers in the room to free her. Whispering in desperation, she told them, "If he comes back, he'll shoot you both."

"Did you really marry him?" Porthos asked softly while Aramis pulled a dagger from his belt and began cutting at the elaborate twist of ropes on one of her wrists.

"Not intentionally," she whispered back, her eyes swelling with tears. "He…threatened a priest into performing the ceremony, and…I…I had no choice. Reginald…wants my father's estate, and will do so through any means."

Porthos growled softly, and Aramis looked up at his friend for a brief moment, letting him speak. "This ends now. That man has no respect for anyone. He kidnapped an innocent woman, he tried to murder a little girl, and he tried to kill my best friend."

Aramis gave his brother a forgiving look, knowing that Porthos was probably the most righteous of them all. His moral compass guided him on a path that was far more decent than he could ever hope to follow, and as Aramis thought about Helene, he knew exactly why Porthos felt as he did. His best friend – his brother in arms who shared the blood of battle – needed this closure in his life.

Aramis gave a little smile, reciting the long-forgotten phrase shared between them that neither had used in weeks. "May your musket target accurately…"

"And your blade be swift," Porthos finished, his grin lighting up the room, happy to remember the words in their personal mantra.

Gabrielle looked up, and her breath caught in a pained gasp. Aramis and Porthos saw a man that they presumed was Reginald standing in the doorway with a musket aimed at them. He was dressed in fabrics that showed he was well-to-do, but not rich. His white shirt was stained with gunpowder and sweat, and his brown pants and boots were worn, a sign that he handled his own chores. His hay-colored, blonde hair fell past his neck, the strands on his forehead nearly poking into his light brown eyes.

"You vowed to me, Gabrielle," Reginald seethed angrily at the sight of the musketeers near her.

"No, I didn't," she whispered, her body trembling in fear. "You ignored my refusals."

Aramis watched Reginald and the musket he held while it wavered between him and Porthos, as though the wine-maker was deciding which of the musketeers would be his first target. Aramis had only managed to free one of Gabrielle's wrists, and her other one was still tied to the chair. Porthos stood near the table on the opposite side of him, and his friend's musket was in far too relaxed a position to raise and fire accurately before Reginald would release the trigger on his weapon.

Unfortunately, the split seconds that passed were not enough to cause a distraction, and Reginald had not even paused to give them a moment to speak. Aramis watched the man's finger tighten around the trigger, and all he remembered was shouting at Porthos to move while he dropped his dagger so he could cover Gabrielle as he threw her and the chair she was still tied against onto the floor.


	11. Chapter 11–The Vineyard Confrontation

_Author's Notes_ : Thank you for the continued interest! I do appreciate everyone who has taken the time to leave reviews, add this story to their favorites, and/or subscribe to the remainder of the tale. Enjoy the action sequence in this chapter. The wrap-up chapter will be posted next week and the epilogue the week afterwards.

 **Chapter 11 – The Vineyard Confrontation**

Athos peered his head around the broken, but still vine-covered lattice and reloaded his musket. He took a breath to count how many more men were left, and all he could smell was the thick scent of gun powder as it floated through the air. When they had first arrived, the vineyard smelled of fresh plants and sickly sweet grapes. There was even a waft of rotting fruit, as some of the grapes had become over-ripe and had fallen to the ground where they fermented and decayed.

Athos and D'Artagnan had tried to negotiate with the men inside the house, using words rather than force when they had arrived, but Reginald's men had chosen to greet them with musket fire instead. Their actions had spurned Athos and D'Artagnan to seek cover amongst the latticework and the vines and to stay out of sight of the mercenaries' muskets. From their chosen spots, the best they could do was delay the ambush by hiding and performing little more than marksmen duties.

At least three times during this stand-off, Athos had found himself wishing that Aramis and Porthos had caught up to them, as Aramis was renowned for having a keen musket eye, especially on distant targets. Athos was certain that his brother with the marksman skills would have easily taken out the multitude of mercenaries that had kept D'Artagnan and himself pinned down in the latticework.

At one point in the stand-off, the wine-maker had come to the door – staying safely behind the doorframe – to defend his actions with some twisted sense of honor. He had made his words very clear that Baron Clamort owed him Gabrielle in exchange for the estate that he refused to sell. He defended his argument that since he couldn't get the lands he wanted through a sale, he had legally married into the family and now the baron would have no choice but to forfeit the lands to him when he died.

Athos and D'Artagnan had neither seen nor heard Gabrielle by this point, and they had no idea if she was even still alive. However, they had no choice but to assume that Reginald had not killed her because he would lose everything if he had. Additionally, the fact that Reginald kept his men on the porch to prevent the musketeers from entering the house was enough proof that the wine-maker was hiding something. Every few minutes, Reginald would disappear from the doorway, and they had no idea if he was simply reloading his musket or harming Gabrielle. Unfortunately, he was a decent shot with his musket, which made it difficult to get close enough to him to land a harmful or fatal musket ball into him.

Athos pushed aside his stray thoughts as he squinted through the grapes and vines that had not been exploded into oblivion on the destroyed lattice, and all he could see was that it had grown suspiciously quiet on the porch. It was entirely unexpected, especially with the amount of fervor that Reginald's paid mercenaries were showing by holding their positions.

Catching sight of one or two men still alive and defending the porch, Athos noticed that they suddenly seemed more interested in what was going on in the house rather than in the yard around it.

Athos kept watch on how the men would turn away from the yard every few moments, as though listening to something going on inside the house. His instincts were screaming at him, but he just could not discern exactly what his intuition was trying to tell him. He wasn't certain if this sudden calm was a good thing or a bad thing, but he was also realizing that this distraction might be their only chance to make a significant offensive.

"What happened?" D'Artagnan asked from his low position on Athos' left, his attention still drawn to the movement of the men on the porch.

The young Gascon had taken out at least three men on his own, and it seemed that Reginald had managed to hire nearly a dozen of these mercenaries. D'Artagnan started to wonder where the wine-maker had the money to pay for the likes of these men, and then he thought about the coins and the purses that he had taken from the dead men in Helene's village. He could only presume that Reginald had used the money the baron was donating to the church as payment to keep Gabrielle in his captivity.

"Something is going on inside, I believe," Athos relayed. He knew his voice came across as being utterly calm, but if Aramis or Porthos were here they would have no doubt heard the concern laced in his words.

"Perhaps Reginald is finally planning to surrender?" D'Artagnan questioned hopefully, but realizing his words carried more of a sarcastic tone.

A moment later, they heard the single musket shot from inside the house, and they looked to each other. The expression on their faces was one of concern, disgust, and failure. If Reginald was as much of a criminal as Baron Clamort described then they feared that Reginald had just shot the very woman they were tasked with saving.

Moving as one, the two men ran towards the house and fired upon the remaining six mercenaries. As they discharged their muskets, Athos and D'Artagnan dropped them, freeing their hands to release their swords from their sheaths. Running between the latticework towards the porch, the two musketeers refused to give the attacking men the chance to reload. Athos and D'Artagnan charged up the steps and swung their swords expertly. Two of the mercenaries were easily run through as they had not prepared for the assault in time. The other four reached for their swords, leaving Athos and D'Artagnan to take on two assailants each in close-quarter sword skills.

D'Artagnan defended blade against blade, his two adversaries taking turns to tire him. He spun between the two mercenaries, ducking under the taller one's slice and side-stepping the heavier man's attack. D'Artagnan gave his attackers the impression that he was wildly defending himself, but he was instead studying their movements. He came to the conclusion that both of these men were unrefined in their skills, their swings hurried and powerful but lacking in any real coordination.

Catching the movement on his left, D'Artagnan caught the man's blade against his, and then his fist landed solidly into the face of the man on his right, while the mercenary's arms were raised with the intention for a sloppy down-strike. Blood poured from a broken nose, and the man dropped his sword in shock and clutched at his pained face.

Spinning around another strike of the taller mercenary's sword, D'Artagnan sunk his blade deep into the man's ribs, and knew he had struck true when his attacker stopped moving and began sliding off his blade. D'Artagnan pulled the sword free and turned to the man with the bloody nose, but he was already scrambling off the porch and running into the field of lattices.

Bringing his sword around to help Athos, D'Artagnan saw that his friend had been equally successful against his opponents, as both of his adversaries were sprawled on the floor of the porch with strategic puncture wounds marking their quick deaths.

"That wasn't so bad," Athos muttered with a side glance to his young friend, as he set his sword back at his side and grabbed from the floorboards a musket that had not been discharged yet.

D'Artagnan released a quick smile and a shrug of his shoulders, his words jovial despite the small battle they both endured. "They were only unskilled mercenaries."

"You studied their movements, too?" Athos asked with a slight smirk, knowing his protégé was maturing in the fighting arts and not just running head-long into the fray without a strategy. "Which leads me to believe Reginald took whatever help he could find and didn't really expect a fight."

D'Artagnan nodded as he set himself into a ready position outside the door of the house, bringing his sword into a defensive position. "Because without any evidence to prove otherwise, he assumed his men from this morning had taken out Aramis and Helene."

Athos moved to stand on the opposite side of the doorway and give the area around them a quick glance before settling himself into a stance that showed he was waiting to enter the house. He set the musket beside his face, his arm tucked against him. "That was my suspicion as well. He was looking to take the baron's daughter without anyone finding out and then make his demands without interference."

"Until Helene witnessed what they did and then found Aramis and Porthos," D'Artagnan concluded. "Had Aramis and Porthos not been there…"

"Don't say it," Athos warned, refusing to admit that the little girl had actually earned his affections as well, and the last thing he wanted on his conscience was a dead child.

Instead of discussing it further, Athos nodded to his young friend, and D'Artagnan responded in kind. He made it very clear that they were done talking, and now it was time to see what horrors awaited them inside. Bringing the musket before him, Athos spun into the doorframe and felt his heart quicken with concern when he heard another musket shot from the next room over.

##### #### ##### ##### #####

Porthos crashed onto the floor, hearing the explosion of the musket in the small room, but he was just a fraction of time too slow. He felt the burn in his bicep and looked to see the tear across his leather sleeve with the new wound peering between the layers of his doublet and his shirt beneath. The pain exploded in his arm, and then the throbbing began. He breathed heavily, his body instinctively trying to curl in on itself at the searing agony that exploded through his arm from the small hole. He was just a fraction of a second too late to dodge the musket ball and half a second fast enough to avoid having it lodge in his heart.

Squeezing his hand into a fist on his uninjured side, Porthos knew he needed to focus past the pain. He looked quickly through his blurry eyes and saw that his musket had skidded across the floor, just out of his reach. Digging his fingernails into the floorboards, Porthos was doing all he could to force his attentions to move past this agony as he still needed to assess everything that had happened in the last few heartbeats.

His eyes caught sight of Gabrielle pulling at the rope that still had her wrist attached to the chair, her other hand frantically trying to untie the knot. However, Porthos did not linger his interest on the baron's daughter as his eyes caught sight of Aramis lying next to her on the floor. Reginald was standing over his friend with his sword pressing against Aramis' chest, and Porthos' hand gave out beneath him, as the pain once again shot through him.

"None of this was supposed to happen," Reginald said, shaking his head. "But, you just had to get involved because of that girl."

Aramis felt the sharp point of the blade pressing against that space between his ribs. It was a very sensitive section of the chest and for as much as the human body was made to protect the vital organs beneath, it was still very flawed. Reginald only needed a fraction of pressure to apply, and then that blade would easily slide between the bones of his ribs, rendering his heart useless. Sometimes, he hated that he knew as much as he did about anatomy and battle medicine.

Taking a breath, fearing it might be one of his very last, Aramis did his best to remain calm. He needed to stall for time, as he was certain that Porthos was still alive. He refused to believe that his friend had taken a musket ball and was in death throes. They had all been injured before, and while none of them enjoyed it, they all knew how hard it was to look past that kind of pain.

Despite the panic he was feeling for Porthos, the fear that he would fail Baron Clamort, and the regret that he would never return to the ones he cared about most, Aramis forced his voice to offer a soothing presence and portray curiosity rather than demand his answers. "What was supposed to have happened, Reginald?"

The blonde-haired man glanced momentarily at the young woman still trying to free herself from the chair. He gave a half-laugh as she paused in her struggle and looked at him.

"She was supposed to want me without question so that I could finally move up in status and have more than just the life of a wine merchant," Reginald mocked. "But, I started to sense her disinterest in me and that was when I composed the document to buy the Clamort estate. For all her family's hospitality, she's the same as every other rich woman I have ever encountered…"

"My father taught me to be wary of false compassion," Gabrielle interrupted, her fingers still working the knot on her wrist, "And, your feelings for me were never true."

"My dear darling, your father is dying," Reginald smiled darkly. "Love has nothing to do with this. I was just saving you the trouble of having to manage his lands."

Gabrielle's audible gasp echoed in the sudden quiet around them, and she shuddered at Reginald's words, her broken voice just above a whisper. "You're a sick man."

As Reginald brought his attention back to Aramis, the musketeer could only see Gabrielle's blurry movements off to his right in his limited peripheral vision. Being pinned as he was with the awkward angle in his position on the floor, he wasn't certain, but he thought he saw Gabrielle's movements change. However, his eyes were unable to get a full range of the room, and he was left viewing a very restricted area. All he could see clearly was the jealous man that was holding the blade against his ribcage and feel the sharpness of the sword creeping marginally into his leather jacket. He was also aware of the table near his feet and that Porthos had to be somewhere beneath the table or on the floor very near to it. He just hoped that Porthos had simply been feigning his injury and had a plan in mind while Aramis did what he could to keep Reginald distracted.

Reginald took a step closer to the musketeer beneath his blade, no longer giving Gabrielle his consideration as he put just a little more pressure against Aramis' leather jacket. "Where is the child?"

"Safe from your assassination attempts," Aramis replied, biting down on his hasty retort. He mentally scolded himself for not maintaining his diplomacy, allowing instead for his parental instincts to surface as he thought of Helene and the musket ball injury that he had cared for just the night before.

Reginald smirked, and a dark glint passed in his irises. "How sweet. You care for the little scamp. Too bad she saw far too much and has a self-righteous tongue on her that could use silencing. I can't let her run free to tell her story to anyone she just happens to come across. It's bad enough she found you."

"I'm begging you to show mercy. She's just a child," Aramis pleaded softly, his eyes growing soft hoping that there was some shred of decency and compassion left in this man and that he had bought enough time for whatever he hoped Porthos was planning…if he was even alive to plan anything.

"Mercy is a weakness I can no longer afford," Reginald stated, his words bringing the discussion to its finality.

Aramis watched the wine-maker's fingers curl tighter around the sword hilt, and he knew he could not stall him any longer. If he moved, he was just as dead as if he stayed still, and Porthos had made no motion that he was alive and uninjured. In that fraction of a heartbeat, Aramis had mentally said all his goodbyes with his heart. He saw Anne's face before him and kissed her in his memories. He was holding his son again while he was standing with Anne in a place in his imagination, and he was telling Helene all the stories she ever wanted to hear.

What he didn't expect was the musket to fire off to his right-side, and then to see Reginald looking down to the small hole in his stomach that was turning his white tunic a deep shade of crimson. That moment of shock was just enough for Aramis to push aside the sword that had finally lifted from his chest.

Reginald dropped the sword and fell to his knees, his eyes confused as he looked to the musket that was still aimed at him, despite its shot having been discharged into his torso.

Porthos finally righted himself and sat up long enough to see that Gabrielle had been able to reach the musket that was out of his reach. Her shot had been well-placed, despite the awkward angle at which she had fired the weapon.

Gasping heavily, Gabrielle stared in horrified shock as her hand trembled, but she did not relinquish the weapon and held it as though still processing what she had done. Her brown eyes did not shift from Reginald, as she watched him fold to the floor in front of her, his life seeping from him.

With a voice that was soft and holding an accusation of pure hatred, Gabrielle whispered, "I will not let you kill a child, you sick bastard."

Aramis rolled onto his side and righted himself as he saw the maelstrom of emotions that swirled in Gabrielle's irises. She had gone to a place in her soul that was dark, and was lost in something she had never experienced before. Despite the fact that the musket in her hand was now useless since the musket ball had been spent, it was not the weapon that was his concern. Easing the musket from Gabrielle's hand, Aramis set it onto the floor.

Suddenly feeling very alone, and growing concerned that he had not heard Porthos making any sounds, Aramis, shouted, "Porthos!"

However, he was painfully divided between his brother's silence and freeing Gabrielle from the chair. Feeling a pit of worry in his stomach for his brother and fearing that he would need to prepare a eulogy, Aramis also knew he could not leave the baron's daughter in her state of shock.

Silently praying for Porthos' safety, Aramis moved his hands to the rope around Gabrielle's wrist, carefully speaking to her to find that gentle woman again in her turmoil. His soft words were meant to gain her reassurance again, "No one will hurt you now."

Aramis discovered that the knot on her wrist had been loosened, and he pulled the rope away to free her. Getting her out of the chair and sitting her up properly on the floor, Aramis gently grabbed her by her shoulders to turn her away from the body of the man who had tried to steal her father's property and her life.

He turned his head once more towards where he last saw his brother, and with another shout – this one more concerned than the first, he called, "Porthos! Damn it, answer me."

Then, he brought his attention back to Gabrielle, seeing a frightened child in her eyes, and he realized just how young Gabrielle was and that in such close proximity, he could clearly see that she was probably just over sixteen-years-old. However, it wasn't her age that made her a child but her sheltered life, where she was raised protected and safe in naivety from the dangers of the world outside her home.

"Will you stop shouting!" Porthos finally replied, his voice growling, as though in pain. "Tend to her, Aramis."

Feeling a mixed wave of relief and concern come over him, Aramis released a weak and quick smile on his exhale, wanting to do nothing more than assess his friend. However, he listened instead to what Porthos had instructed him to do, knowing his brother was right.

With a soothing voice, Aramis kept Gabrielle's attention on him, grateful that his brother was still alive and they had kept Baron Clamort's daughter from further harm at Reginald's hand. "Gabrielle, look at me. It's over."

Blinking hard, as the rim of tears in her eyes finally gave away, Gabrielle took a sharp breath and began shaking as a tear streaked down her cheek. "Oh God…"

Aramis saw the shock registering on the baron's daughter over what she had done, and he realized that some part of her innocence had been stolen beyond whatever Reginald had done to her and whatever else he had potentially planned to do. Gabrielle had taken a life, and it was something that she could never undo in order to gain her innocence again.

"You saved a little girl from death," Aramis told her sternly but patiently, putting a hand on her cheek to keep her attention on him. He saw his words were awakening Gabrielle from her shock, and he wanted her to know that what she had done was more than just killing someone. "That girl's name is Helene, and she saw everything the day that Reginald attacked your carriage. She saw him take you and your father's money and kill your entourage. It was Helene who led us to find you, and your actions here have ensured that you and Helene never have to fear him again."

Gabrielle's eyes shifted to Aramis and with a breath of recognition that she was truly safe, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him in gratitude, not unlike how Helene always had. Her rambling words mumbled into his shoulder as she held him tightly, seeming afraid to let go and return to her ordeal. "Dear God above. Thank you. He had all these plans…ideas. He said I would be his wife…and that he had finally gotten everything that he deserved."

"It's all right now," Aramis replied softly, holding her merely as a concerned protector, feeling his stomach churn at the thought of someone like Reginald who had so little humanity doing goodness-knows-what to this young woman. "You're safe from him, and we'll get you home as quickly as we can. Then, you can thank Helene yourself."

Nodding her head in acceptance, Gabrielle's voice was rough. "I'm sorry. I truly didn't mean to grab you like this."

"Rescues tend to have that effect on people," Aramis said as he allowed a small smile. Then, he pulled from one of his pouches the brooch and the handkerchief. "We found these in the woods. I believe they are yours."

He felt the baron's daughter lift her head and loosen her arms as she brushed a tear from her face to take the objects in his hand. "It worked? When I tried to run I quickly dropped these in a bush, praying that Reginald didn't see me. The girl – Helene – she must have distracted him long enough for me to leave these clues when she yelled at him."

Footsteps shuffled into the room, and Gabrielle allowed Aramis to break free from her, letting him know that she was more emotionally stable now and that she would not hinder him from doing what he needed to defend them, as they both feared that they were not done with Reginald's men. However, their worries were quickly settled when Aramis recognized Athos and D'Artagnan, and Gabrielle noticed the shoulder pauldrons distinguishing these men as more musketeers.

Porthos growled in pain as he grabbed the edge of the table, and as he stood up leaning his weight on the table, he grumbled, "Now that everyone is safe, can someone get this damn musket ball out of my arm!"


	12. Chapter 12-Helene's Happy Ending

_Author's Notes_ : Thank you again for the continued interest and the reviews! While this is the final chapter in the main story, an epilogue will be posted next week to truly finalize the tale. I have not been able to come up with another full-length story at this time, and it's frustrating because I love this universe so much! In the meantime, I will work on the monthly challenges and one-shots as much as my Muse permits me.

 **Chapter 12 – Helene's Happy Ending**

Aramis and Porthos had shared a sigh of relief when they both realized that the injury to Porthos' arm was not a musket ball, but a deep graze. The musket ball had broken skin and tore through muscle, but it had made a clean pass across Porthos' bicep. His blood poured with the same intensity that a blade would have caused, and Aramis had made certain to tease his friend with how brave Helene had been the other night while Aramis cleaned her abrasion. Not to be outdone by a child, it took all of Porthos' strength and willpower to not fight against his brothers and have them knock him unconscious as Aramis cleaned and stitched his wound.

Aramis had also kept Gabrielle busy with getting the supplies and items he would need in preparation of working on Porthos' arm. He realized that by keeping her moving, she was recovering from the initial shock of killing Reginald. It had also helped that Athos and D'Artagnan had assisted in moving Porthos into the kitchen, rather than having him remain in the dining room where Reginald's body was still lying on the floor.

The baron's daughter turned out to be a helpful assistant, cleaning the blood as Aramis worked, and she seemed undisturbed by the sight of an open wound. He thought she would do well as a surgeon's assistant and asked her if she had ever considered such a line of work. She bashfully told him that she was just accustomed to dealing with her father's sores on his back from when he sat for too many hours in his study chair. She said that their servant, Mary, did most of his care, but Gabrielle had been learning from her how to handle her father's wounds for the past few months. Gabrielle also mentioned that she had taken to becoming a healer on the property, and that she often visited the people of her father's lands to provide medicines and help mend injuries.

During the time that Aramis and Gabrielle were cleaning up the last of Porthos' stitches, Athos had asked what happened to the chest with the money from Baron Clamort. Gabrielle had provided the musketeers with the location in an upstairs closet where Reginald had stored her father's money. The wooden box had been damaged beyond repair, no doubt when Reginald couldn't break the lock, but Athos had been resourceful enough to make bags out of pillows so that they could return the money to the baron.

D'Artagnan had taken it upon himself to recover the remaining funds from the dead mercenaries around the house and yard. Based on the money that had been retrieved, Gabrielle calculated that about a third of the money had been used to pay the mercenaries, and she gratefully thanked Athos and D'Artagnan for recovering as much of her father's fortune as they could. She said that her father was providing the church a more than generous amount, but the church would just have to accept a slightly smaller donation. She just didn't know when she could arrange to have the donation taken to Paris, and the musketeers had agreed that they would escort her to the church records after they took her home to let her father know that she was safe.

At that point between recovering the money and giving Porthos enough time to recuperate so he could ride, late afternoon had started to give way to sunset, and the five of them had finally begun the ride back to Gabrielle's home. During the journey, Gabrielle had been paired with D'Artagnan, as she recognized the mare he was riding upon as her own. While they passed through the meadows and wooded lands, she had asked if the musketeers could tell her anything about the girl, Helene, who had led them to save her from Reginald's captivity. Aramis and Porthos both offered her everything they could about Helene's situation as well as the bravery and curiosity she exhibited in their presence. Gabrielle had ended the conversation by sharing in her excitement to meet the fearless girl whose actions had spurned the musketeers' rescue effort.

By the time they had arrived at the Clamort estate, night had fallen over the land, and in the torchlight of the courtyard, the musketeers had given the horses over to the groomsman so that they could be rested and fed before their next journey.

Gabrielle then led the four men into the study where she knew her father would be awaiting news of her situation. As they grew closer, they could hear the baron excitedly talking with renewed energy as he and Helene were continuing to converse.

The young girl was asking questions as he discussed the exploits of a king's soldier, and he patiently provided what answers he could, occasionally pausing in his reply.

"I think his eyes should be brown," she could be heard saying. "And, could he have a brown horse with a white stripe on his nose?"

"Brown eyes will be splendid, and I think you have chosen a fine animal, indeed!" the baron replied before there was another pause.

"What color was his feather?" she asked. "You said his hat had a feather, but you didn't say what color."

"You know that is a very good question," Clamort said, and after another pause, he asked her, "What color would you like?"

When the group entered the study, they saw the multitude of lit candles throughout the room and on the table illuminating the area. Helene was kneeling on a chair next to the baron with Marie in her hands while Clamort was marking down notes on a piece of parchment beside the opened book that had been on the table from earlier in the day. They watched him glide the quill across the parchment once more before looking up and seeing Gabrielle and the musketeers standing in the doorway watching them.

With bright eyes, and a smile that lit up the room more than all the candles, Baron Clamort looked upon his daughter with adoration and relief. As she ran to him, Helene scrambled off the chair with Marie still clutched in her hands as she recognized the musketeers with whom she had spent so much time.

While Athos had the least amount of interaction with Helene, he could not help but give her a warm smile, grateful for her assistance. D'Artagnan smiled brightly, his dark eyes twinkling in the candlelight at the child. Porthos provided a huge grin, grateful to see the little sprout, as he had lovingly nicknamed her. Aramis' smile was both fatherly and protective, excited to return to Helene and willing to do it all again if he needed to keep her safe.

Helene giggled at the sight of Aramis and with a burst of excitement, she ran towards him, keeping Marie tightly confined in her left hand. As he knelt to intercept her, she bounced herself into his arms.

"You did it!" she laughed, as she squeezed her small arms around his neck, her excitement bursting from her. "That's her! That's the pretty lady, and you saved her!"

Aramis stood with the child in his arms and smiled in contentment that he was able to see Helene again. With a soft voice, he said, "I have quite the story for you."

Helene set her free hand on Aramis' shoulder while Marie remained pressed against her chest, and she pushed herself back so she could look at his face. "Is it a happy one?"

Instead of Aramis answering, however, Gabrielle broke from her father's embrace and turned to look at the girl who was responsible for saving her life. "A very happy ending, and one I would be delighted to share."

Looking back at her father, Gabrielle explained, "I learned that Helene is in need of a family."

Baron Clamort chuckled softly with a twinkle in his eye that had not been present before. His words were cryptic as he glanced at the little girl in Aramis' arms. "Oh, she has a family. Isn't that correct, Helene?"

Nodding, Helene looked at Aramis again, and he felt his heart break. If Helene had somehow managed to manipulate the baron into believing he was her father, it would only make things worse for when he needed to leave her. As it was, he had no doubts that Captain Treville would bend only slightly with allowing the child to stay in the garrison, and Aramis was certain that even having Helene bunk with him and Porthos for a week would be too much to ask of Treville. Aramis knew in good conscience that she could never be raised by a man who might one day never return, and for as much as he wanted to raise Helene, he also knew that he had to heed Jacqueline's warnings.

"Father…?" Gabrielle asked with confusion in her voice, as she also brought her eyes to the blonde-haired child in the musketeer's arms.

"Tell them, little one. Tell them all what we discovered," Baron Clamort announced with warmth in his voice, his attention on Helene.

Helene looked at Gabrielle, and as though she about to explode from the information, she exclaimed, "Gabrielle is my cousin!"

The baron laughed even harder at the collective bewilderment amongst the musketeers and his own daughter. "Helene and I had spent all this time talking. She is such a good conversationalist, and she has quite an avid gift for asking about details. She told me all about Mistress Jacqueline, and what a wonderful woman she is. It seems that Jacqueline had once told Helene that her mother's name was Francoise and her father was Charles. What she did not know, however, was that Jacqueline was once Madame Francoise's servant. Madame Francoise…Devereaux."

"Devereaux was my mother's surname before marriage," Gabrielle stated quietly. "But, I know so little about my mother's family."

Baron Clamort nodded soberly. "Because when I married your mother – my sweet Marie – it caused such discord between both our families. The children of my first wife were angry with me that I had found love so late in life with a woman so much younger than myself. Their mother and I were arranged, and while I cared greatly for her, we never were proverbially 'in love.' They did not believe that Marie's intentions for me were true, and they thought that she and her family were nothing more than fortune-digging opportunists seeking a higher rank in nobility. But, Marie was a wonderful soul, with a kindness that I had never known quite before, and you – Gabrielle - you echo her very much in your compassion for others."

Clamort paused and glanced between his daughter and the young girl that had been brought to him by a stroke of fate. "Unfortunately, as noble families often do, my children feared I would have my graciousness taken advantage, and I would feel obligated to extend their inheritance into Marie's family instead of saving it all for them."

The baron paused, and his brown eyes grew distant and regretful. "Marie and I were married for a few years when Francoise knew that the only way to settle the peace was to follow her own path. She left her pampered life to be with a humble man named Charles Barriere, and in doing so, she broke all contact with us, proving to my children that there were no underhanded schemes in her family. By the time Francoise had disappeared and lost contact with her sister, my children had already gone their separate ways, each married into their own lives and their own fortunes."

"I never knew about this," Gabrielle breathed softly. "Mother only mentioned a couple times that she had a sister named Francoise, but the topic was always pushed aside when I asked for details. I never understood why, but my mother didn't talk much about my Aunt Francoise, and I had no contact with any of my extended family to learn more about her."

"Because Francoise and Marie were the very closest of sisters," Clamort concluded. "Being separated tore each of them apart emotionally, and I would not be surprised if their deaths were more from broken hearts than actual sickness."

Aramis looked to Helene, watching her blue eyes sparkle in a joy that was so pure and infectious, he could not help feeling a wave of happiness for her, despite the selfish sadness he felt for knowing that she could not remain in his company. He was no one of consequence that could raise a child of nobility, and he would never have enough money on a musketeer's wages to support the life that her birthright required.

After a moment, however, Helene shifted her gaze back to Aramis as though seeking his approval to be a part of this new-found lineage of hers.

"We are all that is left of Helene's family, Gabrielle," Baron Clamort smiled, his dark eyes twinkling at the little girl still in Aramis' arms. "It's time for us to repair the rift that my children had done to both of your mothers. I have the impression that you were going to propose we take Helene in our home, and I am proposing the same."

With a smile, Gabrielle hugged her father again, "You are the kindest man I have ever known."

"Your stories were true, Aramis," Helene whispered, as she looked into his eyes and softened her face into a smile that was like a secret between them. "I _am_ Princess Helene."

"And, so you are," he whispered with a saddened smile in reply.

Aramis wasn't entirely certain how to process the knowledge now that Helene was not just a simple commoner. Jacqueline's warning about letting the child go – despite the kindness she would have in her new home – struck him again, and he understood just what the old woman meant. He would always have an emotional connection to Helene – no matter her breeding or her residence – and as he set her on the floor again, he felt that pang of sadness at being forced to part ways with her.

Baron Clamort's voice boomed suddenly across the study, seeming to catch the men as though they were about to receive punishment. "Now, before you musketeers go scurrying off into the night like rodents hiding from the cat, we have some unfinished business to discuss."

Looking amongst themselves, Athos took the saddlebag with the baron's money from over his shoulder and placed it gently on the table, showing that he and his brothers had no interest in the donation. Giving a formal bow to deflect Clamort's apparent wrath, Athos tried his best to prevent having the old man accuse him of stealing from him.

Keeping his words professional and calm, Athos offered a brief report. "Baron Clamort, we have returned as much of your money as we could recover. It seems Reginald had already used a portion of it to pay his mercenaries."

"You think this is about my donation?" Clamort laughed quickly. "You are far too noble and honest, my friend."

Realizing instead what the baron was implying, Athos decided that he did not want to become influenced into the delays Porthos had warned that Clamort had been reputed to gently enforce upon his guests.

"I regret to inform you, Baron, that we must be on our way," Athos kindly declined. Quickly adding a valid excuse, he explained, "Our captain has not heard from us in nearly two days."

"And, he will wait one more," the baron insisted with a sparkle in his eyes. "Join us tonight as we celebrate my daughter's return, my niece's discovery, and a reward for your bravery. I will not accept a denial to this invitation, and I will present a letter to your good captain myself explaining your prolonged whereabouts."

Aramis and Porthos shared a look, and neither could deny that they wanted just a little more time with Helene before they left her here and returned to their duties. Both men leaned towards Athos, their voices full of quiet mischief, as they relayed their previous observations to their friend.

"It would be an insult to deny him," Aramis whispered, speaking from his recent experience with the baron, "And, he would only find ways to keep you here anyway. It will start with word sparring, and before you know it, an hour has passed."

"Besides, I'm too hungry to ride right now, and I might get light-headed while my stitches are healing. You wouldn't want me to open them and then faint like a dainty woman, would you?" Porthos whispered, with a forced pout as he pointed at his arm.

D'Artagnan caught onto his friends' tactics, and he couldn't resist joining them, despite having not known Clamort in quite the same capacity as Aramis and Porthos. "Don't forget that Aramis and Porthos' horses have been running all day. They need the rest or else they'll perish on the ride back."

Athos gave a darkened glance to each of his friends, but for as much as he knew they were playfully teasing him, he also knew they each had valid arguments.

Offering a closed smile, Athos bowed once more and looked to the baron, deciding to play what his brothers had told of him the baron against them, ignoring their silent stares of alarm. "On second thought, my fellow musketeers have convinced me of your graciousness. We appreciate your hospitality, and would be most honored to spend the evening in your company. It seems that you have left quite the impression on Aramis and Porthos, and D'Artagnan would be delighted to offer you some stories of our exploits."

"Excellent!" Clamort announced with a wide smile, his enthusiastic words echoing throughout the study. "Come sit with me and enjoy the evening!"

##### ##### ##### ##### #####

Standing within the doorway of the balcony, Aramis was dressed simply in his white tunic, brown trousers, and the boots that had become like a second skin. He had his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned his shoulder against the wooden doorframe. He had left his weapons and his long coat in the room the baron had provided for him, taking comfort in the warm night without having the extra weight to carry. He could not help but smile at the little girl in her simple, tan dress who had taken refuge in the solitude of the nighttime peace. She gave no impression that her lineage was of noble bearing, and he hoped she would always remain the kind-hearted, brave girl that experienced an unexpected adventure while in the company of the King's Musketeers.

Allowing a little smirk, Aramis considered how his brothers had remained willing captives in the lively and celebratory atmosphere of the study. Baron Clamort had managed to corner Athos and D'Artagnan, begging them for tales of their exploits, and Aramis had taken the distraction to follow Helene as she slipped into the night. Porthos was busy nursing his injury, soaking in the sympathy he was receiving from Clamort's female servants, while at the same time finding himself laughing at the baron's gentle manipulations of learning about the adventures that his friends had shared. Gabrielle had playfully chided with her father to stop pushing on the musketeers for information and to let them enjoy their feast.

Helene had made no protest as Aramis followed behind her after she had sneaked out of the party, and he suspected it was so she could return to the peace and quiet that she had known her entire life in her small village. Even though her step-father had never spoken kindly to her, and Madeleine had ignored her, there still was a noiseless comfort in the village that this new home did not seem to offer in such a lively moment as tonight's celebration.

Grateful to be away from the commotion himself, Aramis studied how Helene was quietly sitting with Marie on the wooden bench in the balcony that was located on the second story of the estate. During the daytime, it would offer a view of the courtyard below with the servants moving about and the groomsmen preparing the horses. At this hour of nightfall very little could be seen, with the exception of the orange glow from the torchlights spaced around the courtyard pillars. However, Aramis noted that Helene was not entirely interested in the world below. Instead, her attention was upwards, looking at the multitude of stars in the sky above.

After a few long moments, her interest there had drifted again as the little girl rotated on the bench so that she could bring her eyes up to look at the tall building of the estate. There was at least one more story above this landing, and her eyes seemed to stretch up for eternity.

"Aramis, this house is so big!" she breathed.

Aramis smiled with a light chuckle as he shook his head at Helene's feeling of being overwhelmed. Again, he wondered what she would have thought of the palace had she continued on her journey with him. Knowing now that such a future was not possible, he decided to be appreciative of whatever time he could have with Helene before he departs in the morning.

"You'll find your way around soon enough. I doubt you'll be lost for long," he told Helene, as his smile crossed into his words.

Helene brought her eyes back down to look at him. "Do you really have to leave?"

"Not tonight," Aramis replied quietly and felt that smile drop. "But, yes, in the morning we promised Gabrielle that we would escort her and her father's donation to the church records in Paris. Then, we have to meet with our captain. He hasn't seen us in days and will be worried for our safety. And, when Gabrielle is ready to return here from Paris, she asked that we stop by your old village to bring Jacqueline to stay with you."

Helene looked down to Marie in her lap and started fidgeting with the doll's hair. "Aramis, I like it here, but I like being with you, too."

Aramis felt the spike of sadness in the young girl's voice more than he heard it. He stepped from the doorframe, lowering his arms and knelt on the balcony before her. "What if you send me letters, and I make a promise that I will write you until I can visit again?"

"But, I can't read or write…not yet," she protested softly.

"I think Baron Clamort and his daughter will make sure that you can, and until you do, I'm certain they will read my letters to you," Aramis smiled. Then, he looked at Helene and brushed a few strands of her hair back over her shoulder. "You have an amazing opportunity here, Helene. You'll learn all kinds of new things and will be treated with the kindness you deserve. I know that the baron will take good care of you."

Helene brought her hands around Marie again and looked to Aramis, as though seeking his approval. "Baron Clamort tells stories like you do, but he writes his down. He let me help him while you were gone."

Aramis felt slightly embarrassed by that for some reason he didn't quite understand. He wondered if maybe he was a little jealous because he knew his tales were just quick moments that allowed him to share something special with Helene, and Baron Clamort would take that from him in some more permanent manner. Aramis didn't really allow Helene to offer her input into his stories, and he wondered if she somehow resented him for that. Aramis felt a strange spike of pain in his heart as he realized his tales were destined to fade with time due to their verbal nature, but the baron's stories would live long in the books where he kept them.

Glancing into the dark distance for a moment, Aramis wondered if he would ever have a chance to tell his son the tales he had offered to a girl who only wanted a happy ending to her own story.

Feeling his eyes drop at the thought of being forgotten by this child he had grown to care about so greatly, Aramis suggested, "Perhaps you can ask the baron to help you write down our stories, and maybe you can even come up with some of your own."

"Aramis," Helene whispered, and as he brought his attention back to her to look into her eyes, there was a promise in her voice that was so innocent and pure that he could not dare question her intentions. "I'll make sure your story has a happy ending. Baron Clamort likes my suggestions, and you need to be happy, too."

Feeling a sudden tightness in his throat at Helene's brutal honesty, he swallowed hard to push aside the lump that formed there. Between wanting to be with Anne and his son, and the meddling laws of propriety that were the foundation of life at court, he knew a happy ending was an impossible dream. But, even an impossible dream deserved a chance, and he believed Helene when she said that she would give his story the happy ending he deserved. It would just have to be fictional as opposed to factual.

Settling Marie on Helene's lap, Aramis took her hands in his, kissing her tiny fingers. He smiled, forcing himself to keep the dampness in his eyes from slipping free. "Thank you, Helene. I hope to one day read my story."

"Aramis?" Helene asked shyly.

Releasing her fingers and looking up, he waited patiently for her question.

"Can you tell me one more story before I go to sleep tonight and you leave in the morning?"

Aramis got up from his knees and sat on the bench beside her. "On one condition."

Helene turned to look at him, and he smiled in reply. "You be the best princess that Baron Clamort has ever known. You go to bed when you're told, and you clean up after yourself. Follow the rules of the house. Stay out of trouble, and…" he paused, picking Helene up and sitting her on his lap as though he were her father. Pushing a few stray hairs from her cheeks, he finished, "Don't ever forget how brave and clever you are."

"I promise," she smiled, holding Marie in her left hand. Helene then reached down to Aramis' cross and held it in her small fingers, studying it the same as she had when she first looked upon it. "You need to keep her…the queen…safe."

Offering a small smile as Helene released the cross, Aramis softly replied, "Always."

Leaning downward to the child in his lap, Aramis gently kissed the top of her head, much as he would his own child. He brought his arms around her, feeling her rest her head against his chest as she moved Marie to hold her before her again.

Falling into his storyteller's voice, Aramis began, "There once was a brave girl named Helene who befriended a king's musketeer named Aramis under the most unusual of circumstances…"


	13. Epilogue-A Father's Heart

_Author's Notes_ : And, now we have reached the end of the tale. I want to formally thank everyone who has left reviews, especially **Deana** , **pallysdeeks** , and **JMP** , who were so very kind to review each chapter individually. I also want to thank everyone who has stumbled across this story and has added it to their Favorites and/or their Subscriptions. "Tales of Truth" was one of the most fun stories I had written, and I enjoyed writing the characters of "The Musketeers" as much as I did my own characters. Without further delay, enjoy the epilogue!

 **Epilogue – A Father's Heart**

Aramis had walked for at least a couple days, leaving behind all his friends, his queen, and his son, knowing that his absence would keep them all safe. Rochefort had come far too close to the truth of his feelings for Anne, and Aramis knew he had to follow through with his promise to God that he had made in that lonely prison cell before Rochefort would have sent him to whatever punishment he wanted to inflict. God had spared him and all those he loved from death, and now it was time for him to do his part. He needed a place far away from Paris, royal court, the garrison of musketeers, and all the temptations that would sway him back into the life he vowed to God that he would leave.

His thoughts had been so full of turmoil during the journey, and every time he had a moment of peace come to him, a memory would spark in his head, and he felt the painful tightening in his throat. More than once he had choked back the blur of tears when he started his journey, but at some point in his solitude he found it was easier to just let the tears cleanse his broken heart.

Every step took him one memory further from his past, and as he said goodbye to that life, the pain had begun to dull. It would never go away, and he had accepted that it was the punishment he had to endure for having been spared because it was all part of the penance God had chosen for him.

Moving across the grassy terrain, Aramis adjusted the weight of the coat on his back that he had repurposed into a knapsack at some point in the journey. In its folds he had stored his pouches and his cavalier, opting instead to keep his musket and his sword hanging against his hips, as the makeshift sack could not accommodate either of them. He realized that in his haste to leave Paris, he never stopped by the garrison to drop off any of his equipment, and had he done so, it would have just delayed his departure even longer. That last thing he needed was Treville talking him out of leaving or the stares from the other musketeers as he stepped for the last time out of the place he considered his home for so many years.

Clearing his head from those regretful thoughts, Aramis looked up and realized that his path had brought him to a familiar structure that he had not seen in a very long time. He was surprised to note that it had barely changed in the months that he was away. The vines still grew upon the stonework that surrounded the estate, and the gate remained open, welcoming guests. As he neared the elaborate home, he heard a giggling that he could never forget – the kind of giggling that seemed to somehow always settle the empty pain in his heart.

Curious as to what had brought on such joy when he was feeling at his most desperate, Aramis stepped towards the entrance and looked inside the courtyard. He caught sight of a little girl with blonde hair atop a trotting horse, her long strands bouncing behind her. She smiled in delight, her giggle echoing across the grounds. The older groomsman who was instructing the girl had his attention distracted momentarily when he caught Aramis looking inside the open gates.

The girl pulled on the reins, noticing that the man who was her instructor was no longer giving her any mind, and as the horse stopped, her smile spread across her face even further.

"Aramis!" she squealed, scrambling to find a way down from the horse. "You never wrote that you would be visiting!"

The groomsman quickly turned around as he realized that his student was untangling herself from the saddle and could fall. He began fussing, "Miss Helene, wait!"

Aramis felt the smile on his face, noticing that Helene had taken to riding lessons, and he suspected it was so she could learn how to deal with saddle sores after he and his brothers had introduced her to them so many months ago. Remembering the happier times in his life in which Helene had played a small part, Aramis also realized that amidst all the turmoil that had recently happened in Paris, Helene was the one person that had been spared from Rochefort's wrath. Aramis had been careful to keep her letters hidden in a box amidst the books in his room, and by doing so he had kept her safely protected from the dangers that had occurred in royal court, simply because her fate lied far away from it all.

With the groomsman's help, Helene had found her way to the ground, and she barely had her fancy shoes touch the dirt before she ran towards Aramis. Her light blue skirts bounced in the same rhythm to that of her hair, the ribbons around the waist of her dress waving behind her.

Aramis dropped his improvised knapsack beside him as he fell gently to his knees, and he could only imagine that he must look like a war-torn soldier returning home after years of battle. As the little girl launched herself into him, he didn't stop his arms when they wrapped around her, holding onto the one thing in his life that had remained pure from the accusations he had endured. Feeling this child's small arms make their way around his neck was the most comfort he had felt in days, and he soaked in the joy of embracing the daughter that he had adopted only in his heart.

"I missed you, Aramis," the girl breathed into his shoulder.

"I missed you as well, Helene," Aramis whispered back, holding onto her with an instinct to protect her from everything that dared to destroy him.

After a long moment, she released her hug but stood close to the man that had changed her life, seeming to be studying him. "You look…old, and sad."

Laughing with genuine mirth for the first time in days, Aramis teased, "Old?"

"Well, maybe not old, but different," she said, tilting her head as though still studying him and trying to figure out the puzzle.

Aramis felt the tug at his heart again for everything he had to leave behind, and he decided not to dwell on it with Helene. "You look different, too."

She giggled softly, suddenly distracted and stood back, holding the material of her skirts for Aramis to inspect. "Isn't it pretty?"

"Exquisite," he said with a sparkle in his eyes. Curious as to why her faithful companion was not with her, he now asked, "Where is Marie?"

"She is keeping Mistress Jacqueline company when I am away from her," Helene replied softly, her expression growing sad.

Aramis tilted his head in concern, asking, "How is Mistress Jacqueline?"

"She is very tired now," Helene said, the sadness in her voice matching her face. "She lays in bed a lot looking out the window. Gabrielle and Mary tend to her, and they let me sit with her to make her smile. She still smiles for me. I try to read your letters to her, but I don't know all the words yet, so sometimes Gabrielle has to help me read them."

Aramis thought of the old woman and how she instinctively knew that she was not going to last more than another season or two. Ironically, it was not Jacqueline who took in the stray Helene, but the Clamort family that had taken in the old woman as their stray. He briefly wondered whatever became of the Baptiste Brothers who Helene had requested help Jacqueline when she issued her punishment on them, but he decided against worrying about them. He was certain that if the tormenting twins had continued to be nuisances, they would eventually end up in the Bastille.

Pushing a few of Helene's unruly waves back over her shoulder, he smiled. "You will learn all the words you can imagine soon enough, and I will do what I can to help brighten Mistress Jacqueline's spirits while I am here. Now, you have been good, yes?"

"As good as my rambunctious cousin can be," a young woman's voice answered, the indistinguishable sound of contentment and amusement in her words.

"Baroness," Aramis said as he stood and bowed formally to Gabrielle Clamort, watching her walk across the courtyard from the wall where she had apparently been watching his exchange with Helene.

Her violet dress shifted with her movements, giving the material of her skirts a fluid motion. Sections of her brown hair were tied back from her face, and the remainder of the waves fell down past her shoulders. The bruise that once marked her face was long healed, and her youthful beauty now shone through. She was very much a young woman now, and Aramis had learned in one of Helene's letters that Gabrielle was actually seventeen at the time of her rescue from Reginald. Aramis briefly recalled receiving an invitation from the Clamort family a few weeks ago when Gabrielle was celebrating her eighteenth birthday, but he been away on a mission when the invitation had arrived. He regretted that he had missed an opportunity to visit Helene, but in his next letter he offered his apologies and his explanation for his absence.

Looking upon the young woman now, Aramis briefly remembered the day that he and his brothers had rescued her from that house in the vineyard belonging to her scorned suitor, Reginald, and then the joy in her eyes of learning that Helene was her cousin.

"You still forget that formalities are not required in this home," Gabrielle offered with a teasing smile that confirmed her youthful age before shifting into her mature demeanor again. "It's good to see you, Aramis. Will your fellow musketeers be visiting as well?"

Aramis felt himself stiffen, not quite certain how to address his abrupt departure from the musketeers and his brothers. He took a moment to look at Helene. "Can I have a few moments with your cousin and then I will spend some time with you?"

Helene shifted her eyes between Gabrielle and Aramis before she nodded in acceptance. "I have so much to tell you and show you."

"I will be delighted to learn all about it," Aramis smiled, as Gabrielle called for one of the servants wandering the courtyard to escort Helene back inside the lavish home and have the cooks prepare something for them all to eat.

Bringing his eyes back to Gabrielle, Aramis breathed quietly to take an extra moment to decide how to explain his circumstances so that he would not give away more information than was necessary. "There has been some unexpected turmoil in Paris, and I was left with no choice but to surrender my service in the musketeers."

Gabrielle took a confused breath, her disbelief evident. "We receive so little news out here, and I am saddened to hear this. You have never been anything less than an honorable soldier to my family."

Aramis had nothing but pure sincerity in his words. "That's very kind of you to say."

"It's the truth, Aramis," Gabrielle smiled gratefully. "I sometimes still think about that day you and the others rescued me. You were kind and protective, and for as scared as I was, I also felt safe. I have never forgotten the things you told me, and when I begin to believe that I should hate myself for what I had done to Reginald, it is always your words that remind me that I had done nothing wrong."

Shaking her head, Gabrielle lowered her eyes seeming embarrassed for telling him a secret that she kept to herself. Taking a breath, she concluded, "I remember your words because they help me be a good guardian for Helene. I protect her in the ways I know you would want, and I use my father's lessons to help raise her like he raised me."

"All I wanted for Helene was to see her happy," Aramis offered humbly with a shrug of his shoulders. "Seeing that you care so much for her and share in her joy lets me know that she is where she belongs."

"Perhaps it is I who should be thanking you for keeping her safe and allowing her to stay here. That night when you both were reunited, I could see in your eyes that you had already adopted her emotionally." Gabrielle smiled, and then looked to the distance for a brief moment, her words changing the topic abruptly as she feared she had insulted Aramis by revealing her observations. "Can I ask if the king and queen and their child safe?"

"Yes, their lives are well," Aramis answered, grateful for the change of subject, as he knew that he had been unable to hide his connection to Helene. Realizing that his unannounced visit might have prompted some fear for the future of France, Aramis also decided to keep his personal reasons to himself about why he had so abruptly left Paris. Cryptically, he replied, "There are changes happening in Paris that are not in alignment with my beliefs, and I could no longer stay in such turmoil."

Gabrielle nodded, her gesture showing one of relief. "I understand. If you are interested and require work, we could use a protector around here. A man of your skills would be welcomed." Pressing her words gently, she then admitted, "I need to protect myself on my journeys, and I have been doing what I can on my own to learn about musket techniques, but I cannot find an instructor willing to train a woman, and I am far too clumsy with the weapon to trust myself."

Aramis almost blindly accepted the proposition, feeling a joy that he would have the opportunity to raise Helene in the ways he could not with his own son. However, just thinking about his son reminded him of the vows he had made and that he owed his life to God now.

"I am quite humbled by your offer, and I will do what I can to teach you how to defend yourself and Helene," Aramis replied, studying Gabrielle. He could see in her eyes that her ordeal with Reginald a number of months ago had given her incentive to be more than just a noblewoman depending on others, and he would be honored to give her the training she needs. Unfortunately, reality continued to bite at him, and he also had to limit his time with this family or else he would never make his way to the abbey. "But I cannot stay indefinitely, as I am obligated elsewhere."

"Thank you, Aramis," Gabrielle responded kindly. "But, you should feel no guilt about needing to leave when you are ready. Just know that if you should ever need employment, I can arrange something permanent for you here, thanks to my father's generosity with his fortune."

"You have my deepest sympathies for your father," Aramis offered solemnly, remembering reading about the old baron's passing in a formal letter bearing the Clamort seal.

Gabrielle's face fell, and her eyes dulled. Her voice was soft. "Last month he went to sleep and never awoke. He had just finished writing one of your tales with Helene's help. He was insistent on writing for at least three days straight. I think he knew death was coming and refused to leave your story unfinished."

"Again, I'm sorry," Aramis offered quietly, not quite sure what else to say.

Gabrielle's face brightened, and she looked to Aramis with pride. "My father called your tale, _The Lonely Musketeer_. He and Helene had worked many hours together on it. She and my father bonded over the stories he wrote. Helene said that you had told her stories of your own, and my father was clever enough to work those tales into the narrative he had written about your exploits."

Aramis shook his head in disbelief and humility. "I am hardly worthy of such recognition."

"You are Helene's champion," Gabrielle replied softly with a smile and a twinkle in her eyes that was so reminiscent of her father. "She always speaks fondly of you, and I sense my father wanted some way for her to always remember you, even when time begins to diminish your experiences together."

"Helene is a good child, with a very kind heart, and fortune has smiled upon her," Aramis agreed. "I admit that my visit is unexpected, but I wanted to see her before I surrender to my obligations."

"Then, how long were you planning to stay?" Gabrielle asked, changing topics and not allowing this former musketeer to dwell on his self-loathing.

Aramis broke his eyes away from the baroness and glanced at the estate that he had visited in his past life as a musketeer, never once expecting that he would return to visit Helene here in any other capacity than a loyal soldier. Before Baron Clamort and Gabrielle adopted her, he had imaginings that maybe he would visit her in a convent or some orphanage, and he still believed that if circumstances would have allowed him to raise her himself, he would have gladly done so.

"For a couple days, I imagine," he replied distractedly.

"Good, you'll be our guest for at least a week," Gabrielle smiled, refusing to allow him the chance to deny her hospitality. "You need to teach me about muskets, don't forget. Now, come along and let me show you to the room that will be yours for your stay."

Aramis picked up his belongings, following Gabrielle with a smile, and he knew exactly where she had developed her sense of generosity. Her father was no less cordial and accommodating in his aggressively gentle way, and she had learned that technique from him. It was how Reginald had so easily taken advantage of this family, but even then it did not change their kindness. He realized that Helene would thrive in this environment, and if he had adopted her he would have been unable to do better. She was loved and cared for here with people who were available to her, and it was something he could never promise.

Following Gabrielle into the estate, Aramis took a breath to cleanse away the turmoil that Paris had left within him, feeling a renewed sense of purpose here. This respite would do him quite well, and he knew that whatever time he could spend with Helene would purify his soul before joining the brothers at the abbey. Even though he owed his life to God for sparing him the death that he surely believed was his fate, he needed this transition to shift his soul between the roles of loyal soldier and compassionate cleric.

Aramis settled his belongings onto the chest at the end of the bed in the room that Gabrielle had noted would be his, and for the next few days, he would be the father that was in his heart, as he knew that he was never destined to be a father in his own right. He had decided that he would teach Gabrielle to defend herself as a father teaches his son, and he would give Helene the love she deserves, playing the role of the father figure that was lacking in her life. He had finally accepted that Helene and Gabrielle were the closest he could ever come to having his own children, and he would be certain that each of these children were left better after his involvement than they were before it.


End file.
